Guarding Death
by Black-Raven3
Summary: What if Castiel had one more charge, other than Dean. All those times Dean needed the angel, but he wasn't there, what if Cas were aiding someone else in their great times of need. Supernatural and HP AU. Season 4 possible Season 7-8 spoilers. Future Slash, no Wincest
1. Prologue

**Summary**: What if Castiel had one more charge, other than Dean. All those times Dean needed the angel, but he wasn't there, what if Cas were aiding someone else in their great times of need.

**Rating: **R

**Warnings: **Slash (pairing undetermined, no wincest), Spoilers for season 4 and minor spoilers for season 5, Foul Language, Violence, Alternate Universe

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**Prologue. **

Castiel watched on helplessly as the child dodged the frying pan thrown at him by his aunt. The boy, his charge, was thin and small for his age. Too small. The six year old looked like he was only four. There was nothing the angel could do. It was the child's destined path. All he could do was watch as the boiling grease from the bacon spattered, burning the boy while his relatives yelled and cursed at him. It may have been two thousand years since he walked among mortals, but he knew that their behavior was wrong.

That night Harry Potter was locked in his tiny cupboard under the stairs without supper for the third day in a row. The boy never cried or argued, simply accepted the harsh punishments with stoic indifference. It made Castiel's heart ache. In all his long years in the service of his lord, this task was the only one he had ever loathed. To have to watch from the shadows without interference as a true innocent was needlessly harmed went against every human instinct possessed of the being's host, in turn affecting the out-of-practice angel.

Even his other charge, Dean, was not treated in such a manner. Dean's father loved him and did the best he could with raising his two sons. But Harry... all Harry knew from his own kin was pain and suffering. And his path would get even darker in a few years. His would be a life of true misery. Eventually Harry would gain friendship, however in the end he would always be alone. Unless Castiel could find a clause in his orders.

The mission was quite clear. The angel was to watch over Harry Potter, but never show himself unless his task changed or Harry was in mortal danger. He did his fair share of keeping the boy alive under such hostile conditions, but never did the opportunity to show himself arise. Over the next four years he divided his time between America and England, watching with pride and sadness as his fellow warriors were trained to face their future battles.

On occasion he extended his grace to comfort the boys, subtly letting them know that they were not alone. It was not enough. Dean lost his faith, and Harry never had any to begin with. Such technicalities meant nothing to Castiel. Eventually he would reveal himself to them and aid them more actively in their duties. For now, the minuscule feelings of peace that eased their hurts and set their minds at ease was enough. It would have to be.

Watching over Harry had gotten progressively more interesting after he received his letter to the wizards school. Castiel had known what would happen once the boy arrived there, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer _exhaustion _of it. No mortal could hide from an angel, but that did not stop the natural magic of the place to confuse him on occasion. There were simply too many opportunities for Harry to slip away unnoticed if the angel weren't watching him every second of the day. Castiel had cursed Fate the day Harry received the Hallow of Invisibility. Add having to check on Dean to the mix and he was on the verge of going 'insane' by human terms.

The day that Harry went after Voldemort, Castiel had been checking up on Dean. The angel was ashamed at his inattention as well as alarmed. Events were unfolding faster than he had anticipated. There had been a shift in fate that day; a change of objective up the chain of command. Harry would have died had Castiel arrived a second later than he did. The boy had been doing well enough on his own, but his powers would have burned him to death as well as Quirrel had Castiel not stepped in and pulled the possessed human off of his charge.

He should have been forewarned. The duty of Uriel was to inform him of any and all changes having to do with his charges, yet the other angel had not said anything. Deep suspicion pulled at his thoughts. Either the Lord knew something Castiel did not, or someone was circumventing his authority. In any case, he was not pleased that his charge had nearly joined their ranks before his time. Admittedly, he had also grown somewhat fond of observing the odd habits of the humans surrounding his ward. He had never had the chance to watch wizards too closely before.

It was with mixed feelings that Castiel watched Harry board the train back to London. While things had improved at the Dursley residence since Harry received his Hogwarts letter, they were by no means ideal for any child. In the few years he had been walking earth once more, Castiel had finally mastered his host, and no longer felt the remnants of thought and emotion. While he was no longer influenced by such things, he could not stop the memories of it from lingering in his own mind.

Against all better judgment, Castiel knew he had become attached to both of the children under his watch.

The beginning of Harry's second year at Hogwarts had been interesting to say the least. The antics of the wizarding children amused the ethereal being as he flew above them through the clouds. Flying while invisible was not that exciting. Granted, Castiel could see himself well enough, unlike his charge, who was completely transparent inside of the invisible flying car.

The angel had to shake his head and marvel at human stupidity. Had they never heard tell, the legend of Icarus? The fool wizard who built wings of wax and flew so close to the sun that the wax melted and he plummeted to his death. Wizards, he thought, were far too arrogant for their own good. While non-magical humans had also advanced in flying, they had not done so with such audacity. That car could easily fly far too high and get caught in the atmosphere of this planet.

His mental grumblings abruptly came to a close as they drew closer to the school. The car ceased working mid-flight. Castiel shook his head and rolled his eyes in an uncharacteristic show of exasperation. He had been expecting that to happen the moment they flew through the barrier that cloaked the magic infused country-side. Stopping the living tree from killing his charge was not an easy task when he could not make his efforts too obvious.

The day Castiel discovered that one of his wards could speak the beast-tongue was a rather trying day. He had been flying back and forth frantically between Hogwarts and the Winchesters' location in America trying to keep up with the goings on. Dean was currently being hunted by a Grim, and a basilisk was loose within Hogwarts. He had arrived back in the great hall of the large castle just in time to see the conjured snake attempting to bite one of the students.

While not entire unexpected, the angel was deeply troubled at the strange turn of events. The language of serpents was a closely guarded gift. Only once had a demi-god(, a Trickster of course,) seen fit to grant it to a mortal, and that mortal had gone mad from the whisperings of the snakes. The legends of humans that snakes were messengers and guardians of the underworld were entirely true, to a point. Serpents were more in tune with the goings on of the supernatural world than most other mortal creatures.

Castiel's job had just gotten that much more complicated. He would have to keep a sharper watch on Harry to discern whether or not the boy would be troubled to insanity by what the snakes had to say. The angel frowned to himself as he observed how the other wizards treated Harry after the revelation of his gift. He would never understand humans and their fear of the unknown. Parsletongue was a gift to be used with caution, not a mark of a dark wizard.

Luck was with Castiel the day that Harry and his friend entered the Chamber of Secrets. The Grim hunting Dean had been dealt with easily, and the American was recovering in friendly company with a fellow hunter. That left Castiel free to watch over Harry and be there to stop the child from getting his memory wiped. The angel, upon realizing what the professor was attempting to do, had overloaded the wand with his own power and caused the spell to backfire onto the person casting it.

One thing he had not anticipated was the ceiling collapsing and nearly crushing his charge. He had to act quickly to ensure Harry was thrown clear of the rubble. He trailed the boy further into the tunnels and into the chamber itself. Castiel was slightly startled as he recognized the large statue of Salazar Slytherin. That had been the human the Trickster had gifted with the serpent language. He had never known the mortal's name, only that he had been a wizard.

The confrontation between Harry and Tom Riddle was not of much interest to the angel. He was too busy staring at the girl at the base of the statue. A reaper was already kneeling at the girl's side, waiting for a soul that would never be released. Castiel knew that Tom Riddle was consuming the girl's soul and using it to fuel his own resurrection. No mortal should be able to possess such power. There was more going on with Voldemort than simple mortal magic.

It was a shock to everyone when the phoenix appeared. Castiel knew the bird would be able to see him. For some reason the fire-birds had always been immune to concealment spells, no matter the source. The bird carried with him the ragged sorting hat. The angel had an mild inkling as to why. The founders of the school were all very powerful, as were magical items created by them or possessed by them. Any useful objects left by the founders may have been placed inside the hat for safe keeping.

Both the angel and the reaper were startled when Tom Riddle spoke the beast tongue and set the basilisk on Harry. There was nothing Castiel could do, as it all happened so fast. One moment Harry was there, and the next both he and the basilisk had taken off deeper into the cavern, where Harry was bitten by the poisonous snake during its death throws. Despite the pre-teen disposing of the diary in the process, he was dying. Castiel's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as he stared down at the dying boy. He had failed in his mission.

Perhaps not. Castiel gazed at the phoenix thoughtfully. A bird was a bird, immortal though this one was. He abandoned his human host for a moment and imposed his full will upon the animal, possessing its body quite easily despite the fierce struggle the bird's soul was putting up. Castiel felt quite at home in its body despite it being his first attempt at animal possession. He spread his wings and alighted down to land near Harry. Then he cried.

Relief washed over him as Harry's skin knitted back together and he appeared healthy. The poison was still in his system, but it was neutralized. Quickly he fled back into his host's body. Luckily the invisibility had not worn off while he was preoccupied, and he remained undetected. The phoenix was quite displeased, and the reaper was puzzled when the girl recovered so suddenly, but neither were Castiel's concern. His ward was safe once more.

An Archangel came for Castiel the day before the leaving feast. Apparently his interference in the events in the Chamber were being viewed as a breach of orders. Apparently those higher up the chain of command viewed it as him revealing himself to the boy. Apparently they thought he was becoming too emotional and attached, and needed more extensive training to become desensitized to humans. That day was the last time he saw either of his wards before they both became men.

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Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any characters, settings, or histories publicly recognizable as belonging to the TV show Supernatural, or the book series Harry Potter. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this story.


	2. What a Wonderful Life

~^Chapter 2~^

Harry ducked and swore under his breath as a jet of green light rushed over his shoulder and struck the wall at his side. The Death Eaters were not messing around this time. His lips pulled back in a nasty grin as he whipped around and whispered two damning words. A surge of power ran down his arm and out the wand tip. The ebony wand clutched in his right hand vibrated as the green light returned back at his pursuers.

There were shouts of surprise as the Killing Curse found its mark. One of the seven wizards crumbled to the ground without a sound, dead. Harry took off like a shot down the corridor. He could run faster than any, despite his short stature. At least his cousin had done something good for him. The Entrance Hall of the castle loomed in front of him and he did not hesitate as he jumped and dodged his way through the carnage towards the great doors and out onto the grounds.

Hogwarts was a blood bath once again. After the defeat of Voldemort four years ago, no one had ever imagined the remaining Death Eaters would rally and lay siege to the castle. Harry had urged Headmistress McGonagall to destroy the vanishing cabinet, but she had refused, citing that moving it to a new, secure location within the castle would be good enough in deterring anyone from using it further. Once more, that blasted cabinet was instrumental in the destruction of the school.

Order members and Aurors were doing the best they could against the sudden surprise attack, but they were not using the one curse that could end everything. The Death Eaters were using the killing curse with abandon, taking advantage of the Light's reluctance to kill. Harry was fed up with it. Roaring a battle cry, he threw himself head-long into the onslaught, striking down a white-masked figure as it tried sneaking up on Ron.

The black haired man was a sight to see on the battlefield. Even those on his side shied away at the fierce look in his eyes and the blank look on his face. He showed no remorse as he used every lethal curse he knew to protect his one and only home. Long black hair streaming down his back acted like a banner for those intent on coming to his aid, or those intent on killing him. At that moment it was all right by him. Any Death Eaters who attempted to capture the glory of killing the Great Harry Potter were sadly mislead, as they fell with screams of pain or surprise.

There was a reason the Elder Wand now accepted him as it's sole Master. None yet could defeat him in combat. Lightning fast instincts honed from years of surviving against all odds were far greater than a few citations for formal dueling. Since the Battle of Hogwarts, many had taken to calling him the Angel of Death, for his prowess during raids on known Death Eaters.

Harry was no Auror, but his experience ensured the Magical Law Enforcement called upon him to take care of their dirty work. A snort left him as he rolled under a cutting hex and returned it to its caster. Angel of Death indeed. He had come to both love and loath that moniker. People feared and respected him for it, with good reason, but it was the reason he was haunting Hogwarts as opposed to moving on with his life.

Through the chaos, Harry caught sight of the obvious leader of this resistance. Of course. Rodolphus Lestrange. There were few original Death Eaters who had evaded the Aurors, but the two Lestrange men had been impossible to track down after the battle four years ago. Without hesitation, Harry barreled through the warring magicians. 'Cut off the head and the body will die'.

Harry's assault took the veteran Death Eater by surprise. None of the pureblooded wizards ever expected a physical attack. It was their downfall. Tackling the convict to the mud-soaked ground, the Defeater-of-Voldemort gave him no opportunity to fight back. With a swift stab of his left hand, the man was dead. Black light emitted from Harry's closed fist, originating from a gold ring on his index finger. The power of the Resurrection Stone flared for one instance, and then dissipated back into the ring.

There was a loud cry of alarm as Rabastan noticed his brother's defeat. Almost instantly the black cloaked invaders retreated. Sharp cracks and pops filled the air as they disapparated. The wards surrounding the castle had fallen with the first assault. Harry lay where he fell, panting heavily as he recovered from the surge of energy that had gripped him at the use of the stone. It's full powers never had been realized by Dumbledore. Truthfully, Harry did not know if even _he _knew the stone's full potential.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had gone back into the Forbidden Forest to search for the lost relic that he had dropped after using it the one time. The thought that it could be permanently gotten rid of through such means had been foolish. The only true way to be sure it did not fall into the wrong hands had been to keep the stone for himself. That point had been driven home for him after his best friend, Ron Weasley, had attempted to steal the Elder Wand from Dumbledore's tomb after he recovered from the Last Battle. All in all, the Hallows were his by Blood Right anyhow. All the Hallows had been possessed originally by his ancestors.

The defenders of Hogwarts were recovering quickly, and Harry heard Hermione before she nearly crushed him to death in a bear hug. He laughed and patted her back, wincing all the while as she pulled on several new wounds. Nudging her away gently, he rolled to his feet in a shaky crouch and slowly straightened to his full, diminutive height. Even standing on tip-toes, he could never hope to match her five foot nine frame.

She chatterd at him worriedly as they picked their way through the bodies, back towards the school. There was no telling if _all _the Death Eaters had heard the call to fall back. All the wings needed to be scoured for traps and stragglers, and he had a magical cupboard to destroy before he could make his way to the Hospital Wing to be healed. There was a slight problem barring his goals however. Ron Weasley. Now days Harry could tell why Draco called him 'the weasel'.

The red-head looked largely unharmed, save a single wound bellowing purple smoke from his arm. His robes were torn and singed around the hem, and he wore an ugly expression as he glared at Harry and Hermione. Where had his best friend of four years ago gone? Harry thought sadly as he gazed at his former comrade. Where was the man who had once helped Harry, even despite becoming a wanted fugitive on the run?

"Where do you think you're going, Potter? I saw what you did to Rodolphus! You went against Ministry orders not to use that blasted Stone of yours! It'll be Dementors for you!"

Ever since Ron had become Head Auror of his division, he had changed drastically. Honestly, Harry was shocked that he had not seen it coming, from the way Ron coveted fame and recognition during their school years. The tone of voice he was using now though, was like a slap to the face. Despite Ron's personality flaws and fear of the Hallows Harry wielded, never had he seemed so _happy _at the thought of Harry facing the Dementor's Kiss.

The woman beside him gasped and stepped in front of Harry, as if shielding him. She seemed deeply offended as she glared down her own husband. Studying Ron's expression in that moment, a feeling of calm washed over the war veteran. While this was not the way he expected it to happen, he had known that eventually their friendship would be strained beyond repair. Or rather, it was already strained. The use of the Resurrection Stone on the battlefield had simply been the straw that broke the camels back. There was no doubt in Harry's mind as to Ron's sincerity about the Kiss.

Shaking his head sadly, Harry tapped Hermione softly between her shoulder blades before pivoting on his heel and aparating with a muted crack. They would never see each other again. Deep sadness coursed through him as he appeared in his flat in London. He had no wish to come between those two. Despite everything, he knew Hermione still loved Ron unconditionally. He could never forgive himself if he let his powers come between those two, like it had for himself and Ginny and his child, James Sirius Potter.

Waving his wand, Harry ordered all of his possessions to pack themselves into his old school trunk. Where would he go from here? Everything he knew and loved was right here on this island. He was more than skilled at evading the Aurors at this point in his life, after seventh year, but never had he gone outside the country, even back then. He felt overwhelmed.

Times like this made him yearn for that comforting presence from his childhood. What ever it had been had disappeared after his second year. After being saved by Fawks from the basilisk, his life had been one devastating blow after another, with nothing but despair guiding him. He figured it was simply a childish coping mechanism. To imagine that there was some 'being' in his life that lent comfort to him when nothing else could. The feeling had been real back then though.

Harry felt like crying as he realized just how alone he was now. Plenty of people were still loyal to him, but most of them were also fearful of the Hallows, and therefore fearful of him. Ginny and he were on good terms for the sake of James, and their as of yet unborn child. He did not want to get them in trouble with the law though. Their homes would be the first place the Aurors looked, after his flat. The thought spurred him to motion.

He knew of one place, short of Siberia, that would lend him asylum. America had always been supportive of his efforts to rid England of dark wizards, in spite of his methods. He had never been to the United States Office of Wizarding Security, but he knew the floo address. Shrinking his trunk, he stuffed it in his pocket before striding over to the magically enlarged fireplace. Here's to hoping they haven't blocked my network yet. Harry smirked grimly as he gathered a handful of powder and stepped into the hearth.

Five days later and Harry Potter was free. Well and truly _free_. The United States Department of Magical Interference had been supportive of his escape to their country and had offered him political asylum until the mess in England could be sorted out. It took three days for him to convince them not to deport him, and another two for his new citizenship to be approved. They had forced him to stay in the holding cells on the first night, but once the warrant for his arrest came in, he was released.

The man had to shake his head in silent wonder at the Americans. Never before had he met such a back-ward lot! Never the less, he was in their debt. No Auror or bounty hunter could touch him now without risking an international incident, so long as he remained within the country. He did not even have to change his name or appearance.

Before taking his leave of the DMI at Plymouth Rock, he had gotten a crash course on witchcraft in the United States. It seemed that there really weren't many restrictions on what American witches and wizards could do. There was a Statute of Secrecy, just like in England, but the laws were far more relaxed. So long as registered witches and wizards did not use magic with abandon in muggle populated areas, and so long as they did not kill or harm anyone, they were free to rule themselves. The thought horrified and amused the war veteran.

Despite the lack of real government in the US, the magical population upheld the more important rules on their own. Mostly they stuck together in rural areas and remained hidden, and the few individuals that took it upon themselves to break away from the masses never revealed their gifts in public. There were muggles called 'hunters' who were aware of the supernatural world who hunted any creatures or practitioners who brought harm to civilians. The DMI was content to let these muggles do their in-country law enforcement for them.

The system had flaws, which Harry immediately spotted, however he was smart enough to realize that if a situation didn't need fixing, then don't expend energy trying to. Mostly it was selfishness that made him pause at trying to get involved in the foreign politics. Why place restrictions on himself and others, when restrictions were the reason he had fled England to begin with. If America ever implemented any of the laws that Harry thought of as necessary, he would be locked away in a tiny cell for the rest of his life.

The first thing that Harry did upon leaving the DMI was floo to the Salem branch of Gringotts to check his accounts. While the goblins were still up-in-arms over his thieving of Gryffindor's Sword, they grudgingly refused to lose Harry's business as a wealthy wizard. Unpleasantly, he was informed that the Potter and Black vault assets were inaccessible, though his personal Trust vault and the Trust vault for his children were still active. The old school vault only held a couple hundred galleons now, Harry having burned through the bulk of it during his schooling.

The three hundred and ninety-nine galleons got him nearly two thousand pounds. In US currency it was enough to buy him a cheap '89 Chevy Comaro from a bloke on the Boston outskirts, with change to spare. Hermione had insisted he learn to drive muggle automobiles. Now he felt like kissing her for her insight. Driving on the right side of the road was difficult at first, but he acclimated to it rather easily. Life as a nomad was no stranger to Harry, but nothing had prepared him for the life of a muggle gypsy in the modern era.

After his meager funds ran out, he was forced to take up petty thievery and con jobs to get by. He had no wish to re-join with the wizarding world, but life was exhausting and the road was never ending. Nothing in this world or the next would ever make him give it up! The life he was living now was all he could ever hope to dream of.

The one thing missing was family and companionship. 'Companionship' was never hard to find any time he stopped for a pick-me-up at a bar. There was nothing that could replace the hole in his heart though, as he thought of his sons back in England. His sons who would never know him as their father. To assuage his guilt, when he could spare the cash, he deposited money in Ginny's personal vault to spend on his children, and any others she may eventually have.

The thing he was missing in his life other than family, was a purpose. After the first year on the road, he began to notice certain strange activities in the national papers. Unusual disappearances and unexplained deaths. A flashback to the war, and similar headlines in the Daily Prophet caused Harry to sit up and take things seriously. A short trip back to Plymouth Rock and the DMI and Harry had a name. The DMI was disgustingly lax in their monitoring of the Hunters, but they knew the real name and sure location of at least one.

Singer Salvage Yard in South Dakota was a day and a half drive from Massachusetts. Harry made it in twenty hours. When he pulled up the drive it was well after midnight, but he couldn't really find it in himself to care. Any soldier had to expect to be awakened at any hour for any reason. The same held true for Hunters, Harry expected. Constant vigilance and all that rot.

As he shut off the car and stepped out, booming howls and barks greeted him. The junk yard dog held true to its nasty reputation. Harry couldn't take a step within range of its chain without getting snapped at. The wizard approved. Animals were often better guards than humans ever could hope to be. Not even two minutes into his arrival, an older man stepped out of the house, shotgun in hand.

"You're trespassing. I suggest you leave."

His voice was deep with suspicion and gruff with sleep, yet he was fully clothed and seemed alert. The old War General in Harry was impressed. Not even he could pull that off. He raised his open palms and tilted his head curiously to the side.

"You Bobby Singer? I was referred to you as a person who knows a little about a lot, and not just 'bout cars."

The comment only served to make the man more suspicious, much to Harry's alarm. He _was _waved onto the porch though, so he figured he would count his blessings. Upon seeing that its owner had things in hand, the dog curled back up and went to sleep, leaving them in uncomfortable silence for several moments. Finally the man spoke up.

"What's your business and who referred you? Come inside, boy, I ain't having this conversation without a cold one."

Harry chafed at being called 'boy' but said nothing as he was herded into the kitchen of the house. Bobby never lowered the shotgun, not even while grabbing two bottles of beer from the cold box. The wizard pretended not to notice when the hunter spiked his drink with what turned out to be water. It seemed to put the man at ease when Harry drank it and nothing happened. He relaxed his grip on the trigger at least.

"My name is Harry Potter, Mr. Singer. I heard from a friend that you are a hunter."

Bobby scoffed, "Call me Bobby, kid. Who told you that? Not many would drop my name lightly, 'specially not to some kid barely outta highschool."

"My name, _Mr. Singer, _is Harry. Please use it. And my age is of no consequence. Simply know that I'm old enough to have seen many of my friends die or betray me." A growl escaped Harry, causing Bobby to wince and finally set the shotgun down on the table. Now was not the time to be making enemies, on either of their parts.

Harry gritted his teeth and reined in his temper. Even though it infuriated him when people judged his age on his appearance, he should have been use to it by now. Certainly it caused no end of trouble when he hustled pool in bars and clubs. Finally, he sighed and shook his head.

"My apologies. That was highly rude of me. I am afraid I can't tell you of my sources, simply that they mean you no harm and are content to leave you to your business. They heard I was becoming interested in hunting and directed me to the only person they knew of who could possibly help me."

"Harry, I'm not a complete idiot. And I don't trust you. Hell, never even heard of ya before. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kick your ass to the curb right now."

Frowning, Harry looked the man dead in the eyes. He answered as truthfully as he could, though it pained him. He had never really even admitted it to himself before that night.

"I have no family, no friends, and no home. My children will probably grow up thinking I'm a murderer. My home country thinks I'm too dangerous to be left free because of my combat training. Training _they _forced upon me. I have nothing to live for. The only thing I want to do is help as many people as I can before I die."

Something in his expression must have gotten to Bobby, because after that admission the older hunter chose not to comment. They spent the rest of the night discussing various creatures and hunting methods.

From then on, Harry hunted. Singer Salvage Yard remained his primary base of operation, but he refused to give up his nomadic lifestyle to call the place 'home'. Bobby became a good friend to him, and somewhat of a father figure. Anything Harry ever needed could be supplied by the older hunter if only he asked for it. Eventually he made a name for himself among the network of informed hunters.

Somehow along the way he had made friends with Ellen Harvelle. The woman was really something. If Harry had been a few years older he would have been highly attracted to the scary woman. The same in reverse could be said for her daughter, Jo. The computer genius who slept on the pool table in the Road House was also been an invaluable source of information.

Between Bobby and Ellen, the next five years were full of hunts and chance encounters with creatures of varying threat levels. It was through the Road House that Harry tackled his first gig with demonic possession. Knowing Latin from spellwork had certainly come in handy for that particular job. Life was good, and he was living the Gryffindor dream lifestyle. Eventually the pain of betrayal faded, and his life in England was largely forgotten, save his monthly deposits to Ginny's vault.

Usually Harry refused to use his magic during hunts. After years of only using magic in combat, the feeling of taking on an enemy through physical means was exhilarating. There were cases which turned out to be too difficult for muggle means of extermination, but during those times he simply harnessed the Resurrection Stone's power and snuffed out the soul or life essence of what ever creature he was hunting. In doing so he had discovered the Stone's true secrets.

Through painful experience, Harry realized that while he had the stone on his finger, he could not die. Or rather, he died for an instance, before the Stone's powers flared and shocked him back to life. It seemed that for every being killed using the stone, the stone would grant him his own life in turn. Or so he hypothesized one drunken night. He figured this had been what Dumbledore was talking about when he spoke to Harry of 'Mastering Death' through the Hallows.

For this reason he had taken to carrying the Elder Wand and Cloak of Invisibility with him on most hunts despite not truly needing them. Together, all three Hallows worked as one to keep the possessor from physical (and on occasion metaphysical) harm. Harry did not know yet if it was a blessing or a curse. Perhaps both, as was the nature of most things.

The Hallows turned out to be a huge asset in his hunts after the Road House was destroyed, and news came from Bobby and Ellen that a Devil's Gate in Iowa had been opened briefly. The jobs grew considerably more difficult for the single man to handle through muggle means alone. With the brunt of his grief and anger over Ash's and other hunters' deaths backing him, he tended to throw himself into hunt after hunt without pause for rest or thought.

Survivors Guilt was no stranger to Harry. Had he followed through with his plans that fateful day instead of picking up the gig in San Francisco, he would have been caught in the trap and killed along with all the others at the Road House. He was also not a little angry with Bobby and Ellen for not contacting him immediately to come to their aid. Though he had been half way across the country at the time, he could have apparated to them at a moments notice. They did not know that, but it only made the guilt eat away at him more for not telling them about apparating in the first place.

With his life, he knew when he started hunting that it would be just like the War. They say history repeats itself. Harry had only hoped that it would not manifest in the manner that it had. His not-so-peaceful life was shattered one day as he began receiving visions.

The first occurrence had nearly scared the life out of him, having only Voldemort induced visions to compare the new ones to. For nearly a month he had been in a panic trying to figure out if old Snake Face had returned once more. Until Bobby showed up in his motel room one day and literally beat sense into him. That had been a memorable day in his life. He discovered that Bobby knew the subjects of his visions.

"What has gotten into you Harry? This ain't like you, sitting in your room for weeks on end, not answerin' my calls, not talking to Ellen. Now tell me what's going on!"

Harry loosed a slightly hysterical laugh as he got his feet under him, wiping at the trickle of blood from his nose where Bobby had 'greeted' him upon entering his motel room. His insides tied up in knots as he wondered if the older hunter would ever trust him if he told the truth. From the look on his face though, Harry figured he didn't have much of a choice. His options were rather limited and at the moment Bobby thought there was something supernaturally wrong with him. How right he was.

"... I... Bobby, you know me by now.... Please promise you won't try killing me until after I tell you the facts?"

He hated himself for sounding so vulnerable. But he had spent years forgetting his past, trying to fit in with the hunters he now called friends. To have them hunt him... it would be worse than the betrayal he had suffered at the hands of his last group of friends. Bobby shot him a look before sitting down on the edge of the bed. Harry followed his example and took a spot in one of the chairs surrounding the small table by the window of the room.

"Harry, you know you can trust me. I seen a lot of weird stuff in my day. Tell me what's wrong."

"I've been having visions. Again. I use to have them when I was younger, connected to the man who murdered my parents. But I killed him several years ago and the visions stopped. Only they started about a month ago, and they have nothing to do with the man."

"Okay... what else. What are they about?" Bobby looked and sounded his usual collect self. The ball of nerves in the pit of the wizard's stomach eased slightly now that the worse of it was out. His friend did not seem to act any different to the news than normal. Simply motioned impatiently, waiting until he had all of the facts before he acted.

"Er. They're of two men.... Hunters. I think they're hunters. And from the way they act, brothers. I don't know names, but it seems like I've been seeing some of their hunts. They seem to focus only on one of them though.... Guy around my age, slightly shorter than you, short brown hair, hazel eyes. And the other guy, tall, shaggy brown hair, brown eyes."

Bobby looked deep in thought for a moment. "In any of these.. visions.. would they have happened to have mentioned anyone by the name of John, or anything about the Devil's Gate?"

"Yeah. They're dad died.. and they were there when the Devil's Gate opened. You know them?"

The older hunter had a strange look on his face as he stared at Harry. For a moment panic gripped the man once more as he wondered if Bobby would attack him. His fears were unfounded however, as the man simply shook his head and sighed.

"What 'm I gonna do with you boys? Worse than cats with the trouble you're always getting into, and double the lives too."


	3. Demons, They Follow Me

~^Chapter 3~^

"Dude, turn that down! I can barely hear myself think!"

Music blared from the speakers of the 1967 Chevy Impala as it purred its way down the highway. The driver was happily oblivious to the glares he was getting from other passing cars as he hung his left arm out the open window, belting the lyrics with abandon. The unhappy passenger winced and rubbed his forehead before reaching over to crank the volume down away from the maximum end of the scale. The sudden near silence took a moment to register to the driver as he continued singing.

"_Bang Bang Shoot 'em up! The party never ends! You can't think of dying when the bottle's your best friend! And now it's_-- Hey! Dude, don't mess with my stereo! If it bothered you then you shouldn't think so much."

Sam rolled his eyes. Always the same old Dean. Even with the Deal hanging over his head, he never changed. For that he was privately grateful, despite his brother's overly obnoxious guilt-tripping. For once he bit his tongue and ignored Dean as he grabbed the map from the dashboard. They had passed over the Ohio state line not even twenty minutes ago heading East on County Highway. They were en rout to Milan, Ohio to investigate a series of suspicious suicides, and at their current rate they would reach the town in under two hours.

That good news brought Sam's spirits up. The brothers had been trapped in the car for three days straight aside from brief pit stops at backwater diners and gas stations. He was ready to put in at a hotel and pass out for a week. Brief cat-naps with your head hanging over the edge of the backrest did not constitute sleep. Dean seemed equally as happy about their time, though he suspected it was more to do with getting the case started than anything.

Daydreams of a shower and a full eight hours of rest were shattered when Dean's cell phone rang. The damn thing was nearly as loud as the volume on the radio had been. The youngest Winchester shook his head at Dean. His brother wouldn't have hearing problems in the first place if it weren't for listening to his music so loud.

"Yeah? Bobby, what's up?"

Sam sat up straighter, turning in his seat to stare at Dean, or more specifically, the phone. Bobby usually never called these days unless there was an important hunt that he couldn't take care of himself. He could barely make out the older man's muted voice through the speaker pressed to his brother's ear.

"_Dean, where are you boys right now?"_

"Uh, Ohio. There may be a hunt in Milan."

Bobby sighed, and Dean's forehead creased in puzzlement. "Bobby?"

"_I'm in Vermilion, Ohio right now. I guess you must'a picked up the same scent Harry did before his little break-down. I need you to get here asap."_

"Who's Harry? And where are you exactly in Ver-Vermilion?" Dean stumbled over the unfamiliar name. He shot Sam a pointed look and nodded his head towards the map before training his eyes back on the road.

"_We're at the White Rapids Hotel, it's just off the State Road coming in from Milan, room 34. I'll explain everything when you get here. And before you say it, 'Christo'. I ain't possessed and this isn't a trap." _

The line went dead and Dean's attention wavered for a moment to stare at the offending electronic device. He looked slightly worried as he addressed Sam, grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"Hey, how far is Vermilion from Milan?"

Sam looked up and grunted. "It's a twenty minute drive. You think it's a set-up?"

"Nah. But something's going on. You ever hear of anyone named 'Harry' that Bobby might know? Other than that chuckle-head from 'Ghostfacers'."

Snorting, Sam frowned in thought. He almost shook his head 'no' when a distant memory came to him. Back before the Road House was destroyed he recalled one night sitting at the bar with another group of hunters. The discussion now seemed like it had taken place a life-time ago, but the subject had been of interest enough to remember.

"I remember a 'Harry' being mentioned by some people at the Road House. If this is the same guy Bobby mentioned, he's a hunter. Same caliber as Dad, from the way they talked about him. They called him by another name... uh, "The Cat", in reference to the old folk song about the cat who wouldn't die, and that left a trail of death and destruction in its wake. Hell, you probably remember. When I asked, pretty much every hunter drunk enough started singing the song."

"Eeh, yeah, I remember. Wish to god I _didn't._ Why do they call him that? Seems a pretty gruesome thing to name him after, even for hunters."

"Yeah, well, they claimed, albeit jokingly, that he couldn't die, and that anything he set his mind to killing would be dead within a week."

They shared a weary look. From past personal experience they knew not to take such claims of immortality lightly. Dean shook himself and drew his mouth into a grim line, increasing the pressure on the gas pedal. They needed to get to Bobby ten minutes ago. Rather than argue traffic laws, Sam stared quietly out the window at the passing scenery.

They reached Milan an hour and a half later, and the hotel fifteen minutes after that. The place looked in desperate need to repairs, but was obviously still in operation, by the number of cars parked in assigned spots. Bobby's truck was in an unmarked space, next to a black comaro in front of rooms 34 and 35. They were the last rooms farthest from the office, for which Dean was thankful. The last thing they needed was a nosy host eyeballing their comings and goings.

Bobby answered the door after the first knock. He looked healthy enough, and acted like his normal self as he waved them in. Sam and Dean were slightly relieved when they caught sight of the inside. Salt lines ran not just across the door and windows, but along the outside walls as well. The green walls sported cracks in the plaster, explaining the over-kill. Protective sigils and Devil's Traps were sketched around the entrances in white chalk, and hex bags were positioned at the four compass points. Doubtless, they were added protections to ward against demons or spirits.

Defenses and escape routs scoped out, they turned their attention to the room occupants. There was Bobby, dressed in his usual worn jeans, baseball cap, and flannel shirt. The other man though, they did not recognize. He was slumped over at the small table and looked to be asleep until they caught sight of bright green eyes glaring at them through tangled black hair over the crook of his arms. The man slowly sat up and observed them just as carefully as they were him.

The eldest Winchester was surprised. Harry looked about the same age as Sam. His face was pale beneath what would otherwise have been a healthy tan, dark bags under his eyes hinting at lack of sleep. His nose was crooked and slightly bruised over tightly pursed lips. Stubble grew along his jaw, which clenched and unclenched as he stared. The man's dark clothing was well worn, dusty and frayed from seeing too much action and not enough wash. A boot that peaked from beneath the table sported the same wear and tear. The only thing out of place was a gold ring with a black stone on his left index finger.

There was no mistaking it. Dean knew that expression plastered on the man's face. Knew that world weary attitude because he himself was wearing the same. If the room hadn't tipped him off about the man's hunter status, Harry more than would have. Sam shifted uncomfortably beside him. The movement seemed to break the spell that had fallen over the room.

"Sam, Dean, this is Harry Potter. Harry, these are Sam and Dean Winchester. John Winchester's boys."

At Bobby's introduction the light of suspicion dimmed slightly in Harry's gaze. They watched as his head tilted and switched his attention to the older hunter. Dean was both confused and vaguely humored as the man spoke with a gruff accent that the Winchester couldn't place.

"Chester's sons? You never said anything about him being this 'John' fellow." Bobby gauffed loudly and took a seat at the end of the bed.

"If I'd known you knew 'im I would have mentioned his last name."

Dean stepped cautiously over to take the remaining seat at the table, eying the hunter across from him oddly. Sasquach opted to remain standing, though he moved closer to the group. Dean ignored him for the moment though, a burning question on the tip of his tongue.

"'Chester'? Really? How did he _not _shoot you for that? And how'd you know him?"

Green eyes flashed as Harry smirked, leaning back in his seat and looking smug. Though they were there for a reason, Dean could not help wanting to know the story behind his father's apparent nickname before they got down to business.

"I met him on a hunt back in 2004. A pair of spirits were murdering white tourists who visited the Trail of Tears Commemorative Park in Hopkinsville, Kentucky. We wound up inadvertently stepping on each others toes. He tracked me down to my motel room and tried scaring me off the case until he realized I was a hunter too. We were tracking back to the burial sight when we were ambushed. He never gave me a first name to use, and I had to warn him quickly, so I accidentally called him 'Chester. It just stuck after that.

"He was quite fun to annoy the few times after that we worked together. I'm sad to hear he died."

No matter how many times Dean heard the condolences, he could never quite suppress the instinctive flinch. The way Harry said it though, took away the sting of pain in his chest that usually accompanied the words. The younger hunter actually _did _sound slightly depressed, unlike other people who simply spouted out empty words with no real feeling behind them. Dean nodded silently to the other man before forcefully turning to Bobby.

"So, why'd you call Sammy and I away from the Milan hunt? Not that we aren't happy to meet a new, fellow hunter."

"Apparently Harry here has been having visions."

Sam jerked and sat down heavily next to Bobby, disbelief marring his features. Dean could certainly understand why. Neither had thought any other psychic kids had survived the 'ultimate showdown' a couple months back. Yellow-Eyes had told Sam that only one could survive. Thankfully that hadn't been the case, but Sam's continued existence was under unnatural circumstances. The knowledge put Dean on edge.

"You gotta be freakin' kidding me! Ho-"

"What have they been about?" Sam cut him off before he could start up a good rant. Dean's annoyance at being interrupted was countered by Harry's sudden nervous twitch. There was a pause before the man answered.

"They started a few months ago. Bobby tells me that they coincide with the opening of the Devil's Gate.... At first they were just regular dreams inspired by my past hunts. Or so I thought. There were no headaches, no sudden illness, no nothing. I didn't even realize what they were until I started getting migraines and having them while I was awake, about a month ago. They've been about you Winchesters."

Sam and Dean exchanged a wary glance. The taller man leaned forward and eyed Harry carefully. Usually when people were having visions of something, it was never good. The fact that a fellow hunter was having visions about _them _was even worse. Dean sure as hell hoped it wasn't more demon mind-games. Ol' Yellow-Eyes was dead, there was no reason for anyone to be having any visions of anything. Especially not visions that supposedly started after the Gate to Hell was opened.

"What about us?" Dean demanded harshly. The sharp tone made the brunet's nostrils flair in irritation. Dean didn't give a fuck. Big bad hunter didn't like getting ordered around? Tough shit. This was his life, _Sammy's _life, that was being viewed by someone else like bad pay-per-view. He sure as hell wasn't going to play _nice _about it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Bobby move to open his mouth, but cut him off with a sharp gesture, still glaring intently at Harry. He wanted answers, and by god he was going to get them. Even if he had to blow off a couple knee caps.

Perhaps sensing Dean's train of thought, Harry growled low in his throat and violently shook hair from in front of his eyes. Green bore into green as he answered evenly, "Hunts you've been on since the Devil's Gate was opened. From the looks of them, and by Bobby's information, all your hunts since May. I know that you were there when the Gate was opened. I know that Sam is supposed to be dead right now. I know that you sold your soul to a demon to bring him back. I also know that you only have a month and a half, two months tops, before the Devil comes to collect."

Dean's mouth tightened into a thin line, and he released a long, slow breath through his nose. It took all of his strength not to burn a clip in this douche bag, or rip into him verbally. The words tore at him, '_Sam is supposed to be dead_'. Like hell. Sam didn't look any happier than Dean at that moment, but for a different reason.

"How could you know about the deal if you only started having these visions after it happened?"

Harry speared him with a look. "My dreams almost always focus on Dean, but there have been one or two of you, and a demon named Ruby."

The hunter quirked an eyebrow and smirked knowingly at Sam. Instead of responding, his brother shifted his weight and ducked his head. There was definitely a story there that he was beating out of Sam later. As soon as he got through with this asshole. Harry seemed likable enough when they weren't talking business, but it was the principle of the thing. Bobby finally got a word in before Dean could continue his interrogation.

"God damn it boys! I've known Harry for going on six years now. Hell, I'm the one who taught him the tools of our trade! He ain't no damn creature, any more than Sam was when _he _was having psychic episodes. Now shut yer traps and let him explain himself. And Harry, enough of your attitude. Idjits."

He punctuated his words by leaning forward and whapping both hunters upside the head. Both were suitably cowed at the action. For the most part. Dean glared and rubbed the back of his head but remained silent, while Harry frowned at the older hunter and sighed. Sam smirked until Bobby shot him a look as well. Awkward silence permeated the room for several moments until finally Harry cleared his throat.

The guy looked highly uncomfortable as he began to speak. As Dean processed the words, he suddenly realized why the kid might be touchy about the insinuation that he was one of the creatures they hunted. The tale hit far too close to home. Sam's and Dean's eyes locked as Harry's soft accent took on rough, brogue undertones, testament to his country of origin -England or Scotland, Dean couldn't tell which; it was an odd, mixed dialect- and how upset he was at having to reveal his history to them.

"When I was fifteen months old, my parents were murdered by a man named Tom Riddle. He was neck deep in dark magic, and now that I know of demons on more than a base academic level, I believe that he either made deals with demons for his powers, or he was possessed by one. My mother sacrificed her life for me, and was killed for not stepping down when he came for me. He tried killing me, but the magic he used rebounded, and killed him instead. Some speculated that because my mother died protecting me, it summoned a type of magic in itself that shielded me.

"There was also a prophecy involved. A seer predicted that Tom would be defeated by a child. So in his infinite wisdom, he attacked one of the two children referred to, and in the process created a self-fulfilling prophecy. That child was me. For ten years, everyone in my community thought that Tom was gone for good, until my first year of schooling, when he revealed himself as still being around, as a disembodied spirit. He was like a demon without a host, and as I later discovered, he _could _possess people if they were of weak constitution....

"When I was fourteen, I was captured by his followers, and they resurrected him. Created a body for him using blood magic. My blood was used. I escaped, people died, and the summer after, I began having debilitating visions of Tom and his movements. My blood tied us together, as well as the remnants of the magic he tried using against me when I was a baby.

"War broke out. More people died. I killed Tom. The visions ended. People turned on me, thinking I was evil incarnate because of abilities I still possessed from him. I left. Then a few months ago I started having visions again, only connected to you. End of story."

His tone grew harsh and stilted as he spoke of war. Dean could detect a familiar note of despair at the mention of people dying and turning against him. Suddenly, the eldest Winchester felt like a class-A dick. The younger hunter's attitude was reminiscent of the front Dean put up to hide his own emotions. He was such a hypocrite.

Apparently not even Bobby had known that much about his friend, because he seemed just as surprised and unsure as the two Winchesters as Harry fell silent while glaring at the table top. After a pause, the man sat up from a slouch and began pawing through his jeans pockets, extricating a pack of cigarettes and a silver zippo. Dean scowled and almost protested as Harry lit up, until he saw the look in the man's eyes. It was obvious that Harry was hurting, and Dean figured, hey, it was his hotel room, he can smoke if he needs to.

Sam fidgeted impatiently and coughed as smoke drifted under his nose. To his credit, he did wait until Harry was half way through his cigarette before speaking up, a thoughtful note coloring his voice. Dean winced minutely and mentally groaned. For all his sentimentality, Sam could be as obtuse as a water buffalo sometimes.

"So, wait, you suspect that this Riddle guy may have been a demon? If he was, that could explain the sudden visions. A _lot _of demons escaped before we could shut the door.... And even if he was human when you killed him, if he was really as bad as you imply, he would have gone to hell.... We've found out, from Ruby, that all demons started out as human souls...."

He wilted under the brunt of three identical glares. Harry scowled and chewed the end of his cancer stick, shaking his head. His voice was slightly muffled by the cigarette hanging from his lips but the message came across loud and clear, "No way in hell. I completely destroyed him. His soul is awaiting judgment from Death, last I knew. So find a different fucking theory."

The comment struck Dean as odd. Odder than most things he'd ever heard in his life. He could not resist asking about it. Bobby beat him to it. The oldest hunter seemed to have a knack for that. He watched as Bobby stood from the bed and paced around a bit. From the look on his face, Dean knew he was mentally going through the 'Encyclopedia of Weird' he seemed to stock in his brain. When he spoke, his voice reflected the distraction but was steady.

"What do you mean, 'awaiting judgment from Death'?"

Blue-gray smoke curled lazily about the dark figure on the other side of the table, distorting his features and tracing faux-arcane symbols in the air around him. Had Dean been the poetic type, he would have said the smoke made him look 'mysterious' or 'dangerous'. Of course, that did not mean the man wasn't either of those things to begin with. Inexplicably, the Winchester was reminded of Aragorn from the Lord of the Rings movies.

Shaking his head at his own irrational musings, Dean drummed his fingers against the surface of the table as Harry made a thoughtful noise. He expelled a full breath of smoke before he ground the cigarette out in the ashtray on the table. The small plastic affair that was shockingly already full to the brim with spent butts. How could Dean have missed _that _when he first sat down? His attention shot back into focus when Harry lit up another one and sighed.

"Just as I said.... I have never told anyone the full story of what happened that day. Not even those I called 'friends' at the time. It would have only enforced their beliefs that I was mentally unstable. I was, but that's beside the point.... Reserve your remarks for after I'm done explaining. I will not be interrupted."

The last comment was directed at Sam and Dean more than Bobby. The two hunters really did seem to trust each other. The way they addressed each other with comfortable familiarity was not dissimilar to how the Winchesters treated the old family friend. Dean could appreciate the fact. Now that his temper had calmed, he rationalized that if Bobby trusted Harry so much, Dean could trust Harry, despite his freaky ESP tuned in to Winchester Central.

His ears virtually perked forward as Harry finally began explaining,

"I died that day. During the last battle, where I killed Tom. Went to confront him, knowing I _would _die, but I didn't count on coming back from it. I remember it. What happened while my spirit was severed from my body. For some reason I was whisked away to Kings Cross Station in London, rather than staying around the area I had died like I know most spirits tend to.

"I was met there by my old Headmaster, who had been murdered the year previous. Or at least I thought it was Professor Dumbledore at first.... He told me that I had to make a choice. I could either move on to 'the next great adventure', or I could go back and finish my task of killing Tom. He showed me a representation of Tom's soul.... It was horrible. Nothing more than a scared, withered, _broken, _child huddled bloody and beaten on the floor of the station. Twisted by its own ambitions and actions....

"After seeing what Tom really was... I guess my sense of _duty_," He snorted derisively at the word, "would not allow me to simply walk away from a task that I had been trained for since I was eleven years old. My self-sacrificing, _saving people thing," _

A angry flash of teeth made Dean uncomfortable, being the one sitting closest to the volatile hunter. Maybe asking Harry to explain himself hadn't been such a good idea after all. "Would not allow me to finally _rest _without guilt or regret. Guilt that all of those I considered my friends or family would be murdered. And regret that I would not have the opportunity to put such a pitiful creature out of its misery.

"Now is the part that I kept to myself all these years. I really did think I was loony, until I began hunting. After telling Dumbledore my decision, rather than returning me to my body, he... changed. He was no longer Dumbledore. Rather, he claimed that he was a Reaper, guised as my old Professor so as not to 'frighten me off'. Apparently Tom's actions were great enough to warrant the attention of certain large factions in the supernatural world.

"The Reaper claimed that had Tom been allowed to live, he would be 'recruited' into the ranks of a certain black-eyed legion. He refused to elaborate on _how _they would recruit him. Basically -keeping in mind that this is all guess work on my part- the Reapers were on my side, but being neutral, they could not openly force my hand. Such is the reason that one chose to press my decision while in the shape of a trusted mentor. The Reaper told me that once I succeeded in killing Tom, Death would judge the worth of his soul.

"I don't think he was supposed to tell me this next part, as he looked rather shifty, and kept gazing around as if expecting someone to reprimand him for causing some sort of mischief.... He said that most likely Tom's soul would be destroyed by Death. That the soul was too damaged to be given a chance at redemption. He heavily implied that he had a boss who could, and would, destroy Tom utterly. He kept referring to this boss as 'Death'. I guess it just stuck with me. Before I could question him further, he kind of... I guess 'tapped' my forehead and next thing I knew I was back in my body on the battlefield."

One of Dean's eyebrows inched up skeptically and he couldn't hold his tongue, "A _Reaper _being mischievous. That's a new one."

Truthfully, there was a faint ring of familiarity in the back of Dean's mind. He had been hunted by Reapers twice in his life. Once naturally, back in the hospital where his Dad died. He figured that the memories must still be in his head somewhere. It drove him nuts sometimes that he couldn't remember what happened between him and the Reaper then. There was also some envy towards Harry at his remembrance of his own experience with the soul stealing sons of bitches.

There were gaping holes in the other hunter's reiteration of his past, but Dean chose to ignore them for now. It was another thing he could respect, being someone who would rather not talk about his own life to complete strangers. It was an unspoken rule among soldiers and survivors, his Dad had once told him. Never pry unneeded information out of someone with a spotted past, or offer information in turn, unless you want to talk. Harry obviously didn't wanna talk.

The Winchester was relieved to see that Bobby and Sam caught the memo. Rather than question the man further, they began discussing what they knew of Reapers amongst themselves, leaving Dean to his own devices. Harry lit up yet another cigarette and Dean felt a twinge of guilt when he noticed faint tremors running through the hand that held the lighter. The air surrounding the table grew far too stilted and awkward for Dean's liking. To break the ice, he leaned forward on his forearms and grinned conspiratorially.

"Hey, can I bum a cig off you? Seein' you smoke is giving me an old itch."

Harry blinked at him and wordlessly handed over the pack and his lighter. Dean gleefully noted that they were American Spirits. He hadn't smoked one of those babies in years. Not since Sam had started hunting with him again. The kid had bitched him out and lectured about lung cancer before tossing his last pack out the window of the moving car. The bitch had demanded to smell his breath every time he went out alone for months after he quit. His baby brother never seemed to understand that in certain bar crowds, not smoking would seem odd.

Well, Sam was preoccupied right now, and if the princess had any issue with him smoking again, he could lecture his corpse after his two months were up. That thought caused more guilt to surge, but he shoved it away. The fact that he would be in Hell in two months didn't bother him. What mattered was that Sam would be alive. That's _all _that mattered to Dean. To cover anything that may have slipped through onto his face, he ducked his head and flicked the lighter.

The first inhale nearly caused a coughing fit. Luckily he managed to cover it with a clearing of the throat and save face. Obviously not though. His eyes narrowed dangerously at Harry as he noticed the man's lip curl in amusement. He scowled and took a second, deeper drag, this time holding it in longer until he was sure the tickle in his throat had disappeared entirely.

It hadn't been _that _long since he smoked last. Lady couldn't police his social habits 24-7. That made him pause for a moment, trying to decide whether or not him being Tramp was a good thing. Speaking of Sammy, his brother must have finally noticed the abnormal-for-only-one-person cloud of smoke hazing about the corner the table was in. The kid sure had a set of lungs on him, Dean winced and ducked his head, sucking frantically at the filter, lest Sam decide to dispose of it prematurely.

"**DEAN! **What the hell are you doing? I thought you quit!"

"I did." He mumbled around the cigarette. "Now I started again. Isn't the entire point of quitting the epic battle between life and death? Sorry to break it to you again Sammy, but I already lost that fight."

Aw come on! Dean grimaced and studiously ignored his brother's "bitch-face". Two months against a pack of smokes. It wasn't like Sam ever got after him for drinking, so he didn't see why he should have to pick and choose his vices at the moment. He snagged a second cigarette. Bobby really was Dean's new hero. The eldest man successfully redirected Sam's attention back to the situation at hand.

"Until we find out why Harry's suddenly having these visions again, I want all three of you to be careful. Extra so. As Dean so pleasantly reminded us, his Deal is up soon. With what ever's going on with Harry starting at around the time the Deal was made, we don't know for sure which event may have triggered it. Could be the Deal, could be the Devil's Gate, could be the plate of bad nachos he ate. Point is, we _don't _know for sure. All we do know is that the last time Harry had these premonitions, bad things happened."

At Harry's solemn nod and hard gaze, Dean suddenly felt queasy. Bobby's warning abruptly reminded him that Harry had most likely seen what that Tom guy was planning on doing. Or what he was already doing at the time. If the dude was really as bad as Harry said he was.... No kid should have to go through something like that. Involuntarily he turned to look at Sam. His little brother was thinking the same thing, if that frown was anything to go by.

Sighing, Harry pushed his chair back and stood, busying himself by packing what little personal belongings were scattered about the room. Dean was shocked when he finally noticed just how short the guy was. Suddenly, he didn't feel so small next to Sam anymore. The dude was a good head shorter than Dean, give or take a couple inches. He could have been mistaken for an early teen if no one saw his face. Which begged the question of just how old Harry was.

When he voiced the question he received a nasty glare from aforementioned man.

"I'm twenty-eight years old. Bobby," He turned and nodded to the man, "It seems that the Winchesters have the hunt here taken care of. Ellen called me just before you showed up, left a message saying there's a hunt up in Michigan, Grand Island. Sounds like a werewolf. No one else is within a days drive. Would you care to join me?"

Harry finished packing, pulled on a black leather biker jacket that had been hanging off the back of his chair, and sat his bags just outside the devil's trap on the floor near the exit. Like the Winchesters, Harry carried two bags for himself. One for clothing and personal items, and the other solely for weapons and hunting gear. The symbols coating the room, as well as the hex bags, remained in place. The hunter gave the room a quick once over before leaning against the wall by the door, awaiting a response. Bobby hadn't said anything during Harry's clean-up, but now simply shrugged and nodded his agreement.

"Sure, why not. Got nothing better to do, and if anyone needs me, I got my cell phone. The drive'll be nice. Been a while since I've been to the U.P.."

Seeming pleased, Harry then tilted his head and motioned towards the bedside stand where a pad of motel stationary sat. Leaning over, Sam made a curious sound. Standing, Dean paced over and examined it over his shoulder. The first page was cramped full of spindly, messy, handwriting. There was a moment pause before he could decipher it. God, did _all _hunters have crap handwriting? Not that he could complain, Sam often said the same of him.

"These are your notes on the hunt?"

"Yeah. It's all yours. I don't know what's causing these occurrences; I didn't get very far in my research before I got... distracted. I had already talked to the wife of the man who shot himself. Her name is Amanda. You may be able to get more out of her than I did. Simply tell her that "Peter Green" fell ill and that you two will be taking over the insurance investigation."

For an instance Dean almost laughed aloud at the fake name, but then the entirety of the words registered. He felt mild disbelief that a fellow hunter that wasn't Bobby or Ellen, that Dean had been a complete bastard to (even if only in his own head), would offer his own research to help out a brother in need. The assumption that they would be working the case from scratch was usually an instinctive reaction when it came down to running into other hunters on the job. Unfortunately most hunters had that annoying chip on their shoulder that seemed to require their jealous guardianship over any hunt they claim as 'theirs'. Dean could honestly say that he was grateful.

The younger man was about to reach over and open the door when he paused. Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, he fished out a single key attached to a plain white tab. Without glancing back, he tossed the key over his shoulder. Sam caught it before it could smack Dean in the nose. The elder Winchester growled and mentally added a tally to Harry's name, right next to the ones detailing the other offenses the black haired man had caused him.

A strange sound from Sam brought him back to reality. Harry was half way out the door, both duffels slung over one shoulder, Bobby waiting to exit behind him. Once both men were out, Harry stepped back up to the threshold and blinked at them, looking confused himself. Sam coughed.

"Uh, eh-hem. This is your room key...."

Congratulations Sam! You have just stated the obvious! Harry grinned and snickered under his breath, perhaps holding Dean's same opinion on the matter. With a shrug, he shook his head.

"The room's already paid for until Sunday. No point in you guys wasting money. And time." His tone became indignant, "Do you know how long it took to lay down all those runes? A _bloody_ long time."

Without further comment he turned and walked away. Dean could hear the sounds of a car door opening and closing, and then the comaro roared to life. It had nothing on his baby, but it was a sweet car. Bobby lingered for a moment longer and they exchanged their normal parting words. After a moment the Winchesters were alone once again. Silence prevailed.

That is, until someone turned their radio on to what seemed like full volume, regaling anyone in the immediate vicinity with Poison's _Ride the Wind_. With a squeal of tires, the music grew fainter and the camaro peeled out of sight, Bobby's truck following at safer speeds. A full fledged grin spread over Dean's face. He turned to Sam and stated perfectly seriously,

"Sam? I think I love that man."

"So, finally coming out of the closet then, jerk?" Sam asked with a smirk.

"In your dreams, bitch.... Wait...." He mentally tallied up what he just said and found himself grimacing, much to his brother's delight.


	4. Like a Stone

~^Chapter 4~^

Bobby and Harry didn't stop or speak until they reached the outskirts of Lansing. Harry was wound up tight as a piano wire, and he was afraid to pause and speak to his friend for fear he would snap. Admitting so much of his old life had torn open wounds that up until then he had thought healed. The feeling of being chewed up and spit out was far worse now than it ever was when he had first met Bobby and given him the heavy edit version of his past.

He hesitated at pulling into the next gas station he spotted, however his car needed fuel and he needed a cold beer. They would not stop again until they reached Munising, but it would be nice not having to go on a beer run once they reached a hotel. Certainly he would not drink while driving. Almost probably not. At least perhaps only one bottle.

A disgusted sigh escaped him as he shoved open the door and stood, stretching his legs and twisting his spine until it popped. The beer would wait. Or he'd ask Bobby to hold onto the case until they reached their destination. With the frame of mind he was in at that moment, having alcohol in the vehicle was a very bad idea.

Bobby pulled into the pump next to Harry and climbed out, nodding to the wizard as he unscrewed the gas cap. All was silent save the sounds of passing cars and the whir of the pumps. Currently they were the only ones at the station. Predictably, it was Bobby who made the first move. Harry nearly jumped when a throat was cleared, looking up at the older hunter with the look of a startled feline.

The man's lips twitched in amusement, but it didn't last long. "Just so we're clear, we're gonna have a nice long chat once we find a motel for the night."

His tone changed from stern to uncomfortably gentle, "Harry, I've been your friend for years, I respect your privacy, but if we're going to figure out what's going on with these visions, you're going have to tell me a lot more than you told them."

The brunet twitched, seemingly engrossed by the nozzle of the gas hose as he placed it back on the pump. Thus was the reason he had not wanted to stop. He knew he had left holes in his story. He knew that Bobby would want to know what those holes contained. And Harry wasn't so sure he was up for that retelling. Then again, he knew he never would be. Just as he knew that Bobby would break out the big guns, literally, if he refused.

Rock and a hard place didn't even begin to cover Harry's situation. Receiving dreams and premonitions of fellow hunters was one thing. But being a wizard, something to be hunted, was entirely a different matter. Either way he could see it, he'd end up with a chest full of wrought iron before the night was through.

Suddenly overcome with emotion, Harry stalked off silently towards the building, intent on getting that twelve-pack. Nothing short of cosmic intervention would force him to have that particular conversation while sober. A trip to a liquor store was also in order before they retreated to a motel. He would also need more cigarettes, he realized as he fished around his pockets for his wallet. He'd left the rest of that last pack back in Vermilion.

Not wishing to prolong their idle time, Harry paid for both his and Bobby's gas, a twelve pack, a carton of cigarettes, and snacks for both of them. He tersely handed over the beer and one bag of snacks to Bobby before hopping into his car, revving the engine, and taking off. All the older man could do was shake his head in annoyance. Damn Potters and Winchesters may as well have crawled out of the same gene pool as far as he was concerned.

Five hours later and they were finally pulling into Munising. Harry was very much dreading the approaching interrogation, and attempted to push it off as much as possible by driving just that much slower, and taking unnecessary detours. Bobby caught on quick enough, but chose not to comment, other than to call Harry and let him know that the older man was going to break away and find them a hotel.

The temptation to simply drive out of town and sleep in the car for the night was overwhelming. If there was one thing Harry was good at, other than hunting, it was avoidance. Sure, there were some things he simply refused to ignore or put off, but when it came to certain topics, all bets were off. Unlucky for him, this was one of those things that were unavoidable.

The nearest liquor store turned out to located on the opposite side of town from the hotel. Not that that was saying much. Munising wasn't that big a place. During the drive to their lodgings, Harry discovered that driving _around _the town as opposed to through it added an extra twenty minutes to the trip. He loitered in the car once he pulled into the parking lot next to Bobby's truck.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while pretending to be interested in the goings on of the surrounding area. He rooted around in the back seat for fifteen minutes as if looking for something, and then spent another five simply standing, staring into the trunk of the car as if it held all the secrets of the universe. Finally though, he admitted defeat when he spotted Bobby eyeballing him through the curtains of their room and shaking his head.

Once again, Harry was disgusted with himself. Where had his Gryffindor bravado gone? He had faced down the meanest, scariest man in England without flinching, had allowed himself to be killed without hesitation. But now, here he was, dragging his feet as if he were about to mount gallows hill. This was only Bobby. Only his friend who would not pause at shooting Harry once he discovered the man's deepest, darkest secrets. Well, when one put it that way....

Too late for him to turn tail and run now. Bobby opened the door before he could even think of bolting. The second the door closed and locked behind him, Harry made a beeline for the small table, already shaking a cigarette out and lighting it, while at the same time pulling the bottle of eighty proof whiskey out of one of the plastic bags he carried. Impatiently he shrugged the strap of the duffel bag off his shoulder and let it fall to the floor.

Bobby had already taken care of the wardings, now Harry would take care of the getting pissed and spilling his guts both figuratively and most probably literally. A long neck already sat open on the table, but it went ignored as Harry plopped himself down and unscrewed the cap on his own bottle. The older hunter sat down opposite him and waiting patiently as the wizard chugged a couple mouth fulls of the burning liquid.

Ragged gasps escaped him as he lowered the bottle and followed it up with a hit of nicotine. Shadowed eyes locked on Bobby.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Well, for starters, how is it that you didn't die? And exactly what 'community' did you come from?"

Harry could have bashed his skull against the wall. Trust Bobby to ask the most difficult questions first. It took the equivalent of two more shots before he could draw upon his vastly depleted store of courage. He figured he may as well get the worse of it out straight from the beginning. Skirting the questions wasn't an option, Bobby could smell a lie from a mile away, including lies by omission. The most he could hope for was a quick death.

Drawing in a deep breath, he stared at the ashtray, not wanting to see the look on the hunter's face when he got his answers. Thoughts derailed as suddenly it struck him that Bobby had gotten them a room which allowed smoking. The older hunter despised Harry's nasty habit. But still, he'd gotten the room with Harry in mind. Tears choked him for a moment. He coughed and blinked hard before finally speaking.

"The Wizarding community."

The silence which sprang from that was worse than if the man had started shouting. Harry felt like a kid again, as if he was back in Dumbledore's office awaiting judgment for some misdemeanor. He couldn't bring himself to look up.

He was forced to, however, when Bobby sighed and murmured gruffly, "Which one?"

"Huh?" The wizard nearly gave himself whiplash. Bobby didn't look angry, or indeed like he was going to attack Harry at all. Rather, he had an air of wary calm about him, much like he had after hearing about the visions. That was... so not how Harry expected him to react. Near that Harry could tell, most hunters equated magic-wielding humans with demons.

"Which magical community are you from. Did you make a deal, are you a psychic, a wand-user, elementalist...?"

Mind working furiously now, Harry hastened to answer. "Wand-user. I didn't make any deals with anything to get my powers. I've had them since I was born. I went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland."

It was Bobby's turn to chug his alcohol before responding. Harry took the opportunity to finish off his cigarette and steal another sip from the whiskey. There wasn't much of a buzz right now, but he knew it would hit him like a freighter in a few moments, with as much as he'd imbibed in the past fifteen minutes.

"Is that what you were so afraid to tell me? That you're a wand-wizard? Like I give a rats ass. You don't live in this business for so long without picking up a few odd connections along the way. I'm assuming you're _the _Harry Potter? That would explain everything, right there."

Harry was sure he was catching flies as he gaped at Bobby in amazement. Nearly six years of getting to know the man, and he still managed to throw unexpected curve balls. Was there any wonder that Harry sometimes found himself comparing the hunter to his old headmaster? Which brought about an inquiry of his own.

"How do you know about wiz- uh, wand-wielders? Even here in America they're not supposed to let anyone know they exist."

"I know a guy down in Chicago. He clues me in on anything big going on. Voldemort was huge. Only heard the he-said-she-said version of the story, but now that I know who you are, I think I can piece it together from what you've already told me. Not that it really helps overly much in figuring out your Winchester problem."

After how much stress Harry had been under, he was nearly disappointed at the anti-climactic conversation they were having. Not that he wasn't incredibly grateful that he was still in full possession of his life. They sat in quiet contemplation for a few minutes before Harry could not help giving voice to his pessimistic thoughts.

"Do... do you think Sam could be right? About Voldemort escaping Hell."

Pressure was building behind his forehead as his gaze drifted down to focus solely on the curled label on the bottle. To distract himself from further depression, he started scraping at the paper with a fingernail. His hearing was sharp and tuned directly on his companion. Multitasking in such a way was starting to become difficult. Sardonically, Harry wondered how he'd managed such concentration to begin with.

Bobby's silence on the topic was beginning to unnerve Harry. Nausea curdled his stomach and the migraine got worse. Displeasure warred with the effects of the alcohol. The juvenile behavior he had been exhibiting since they departed Vermilion was liable to get him killed if he did not quell it before the hunt. He was a grown adult of almost thirty years, for Pete's sake.

He set the bottle aside resolutely and finally faced Bobby like a man. A very much drunk man, but that was simply a technicality. His voice was much steadier than he felt at the moment as he answered his own question.

"The Reaper sounded absolutely positive that Voldemort's soul was destroyed when I killed him. Believe me, that's not a conversation one ever forgets. And even if he were back, the visions would be focused on him, not Dean. It's something else. Something to do with Dean himself.... Given the circumstances, I'd say it's the Deal. Only question is why."

"Hn." Came the distracted reply. A second passed before Bobby nodded to himself and took another swig of beer. "Maybe you're supposed to stop it. If that _is _what it's about. Ain't got no other explanation for it."

Focusing was getting more difficult. He felt light headed and mild tracers followed every movement his companion made. Bobby snorted and gave him a knowing look, perhaps noticing his dilated pupils, or simply the fact that he was lightly swaying back and forth in his seat. Sound was pleasantly muffled, extremities tingling happily as the alcohol at last began doing its blessed work. Now the wizard couldn't even truly remember why he had been so apprehensive about talking to Bobby.

Blinking hard, he squinted when he realized Bobby's lips were moving.

"Get some rest, kid. Boat leaves in the morning. Last thing we need is you bein' sick on the hunt."

That sounded like a splendid idea! Harry grinned, climbing unsteadily to his feet. It took him a few seconds to remember how to walk without falling flat on his face, but eventually he managed to weave his way towards one of the two beds. After attempting to take off his boots and nearly falling off the bed, he scowled and grunted, throwing himself back to lay across the comforter still fully clothed. He felt like he was floating on a cloud.

He fell asleep with a half-grin on his face, listening as Bobby quietly cursed the 'Damn idjit boys who don't know how to hold their liquor'.

Back in Vermilion, the brothers Winchester had settled into Harry's hotel room as comfortably as they could. The room was small, with only one bed, and hot water that seemed to work half the time. After Harry's and Bobby's departure they had settled into a comfortable routine. Sam went over what little notes Harry had compiled, and Dean laid back on the bed channel surfing on the small, 20" TV sitting on the dresser.

Late as it was, they had decided to catch a day of rest before picking up the trail. They would check in with Amanda come morning and then hit the library for some research. Rather, Sam would research, and Dean would track down friends and family of the suicide victims. If there were any. Sam had quietly commented that two of the four victims had been loners, with no surviving family. From the notes, Harry had been going on the angle that it was some sort of vengeful spirit.

Speaking of the strange hunter, Sam had been oddly quiet ever since they'd settled down. Usually they would have discussed it immediately. Someone having visions of the Winchesters wasn't exactly normal. Admittedly, Dean wasn't sure what there even _was _to discuss, but the silence on the topic was killing him. He fidgeted with the remote for a minute before speaking up.

"So, uh, what do you think about that Harry dude?"

Sam glanced up and slowly put down the note pad, giving Dean his full attention. He looked thoughtful and, if Dean wanted to look further into it, slightly worried. There was a pause before he answered.

"Well, I think that there's a lot more going on than he told us.... But I don't think Bobby would trust him if he thought there was any real danger. Harry seems to have had it pretty rough," Sam shrugged, "it's probably best to let Bobby handle him for now. If we need to we can track him down later."

The eldest grudgingly admitted that letting Bobby handle it for the time being was the smartest option. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, staring at Sam. His brother was not the best liar when it came to Dean. He could tell by the inflection of Sam's tone and the way his leg jiggled nervously that something was bothering him; or he was up to something. The suspicion was only confirmed when the younger man squirmed and looked down at his hands, rather than at Dean. So, little Sammy was up to something he didn't want Dean to know about.

Normally Dean would have taken the time to goad it out of his brother, but they didn't have all the time in the world. Not with the Deal almost being up. And Dean knew damn well that if Sam didn't want to talk about something, he would have to ask about it directly if he wanted a truthful answer this century. He didn't even bother hiding the accusation in his voice.

"You're up to something. What's goin' on in that noggin of yours, Sam?"

"... I can't tell you."

So, it was about the deal. A scream of pure frustration tried working its way past clenched lips, but Dean swallowed and closed his eyes for a minute. Judging by the previous subject, Sam most likely was planning on some way for Harry to help him break the deal. Calming himself with several deep breaths, Dean wracked his mind for any reason Sam might think that. Sure, Harry had admitted to dying on at least one occasion, but apparently with hunters, that wasn't exactly unique.

Maybe Sammy thought Harry could contact a Reaper or something? No, that couldn't be it. A reaper had helped Harry, but from the sounds of it, that had been a special case. Then it hit him. Earlier that morning, just after they got the call from Bobby. What had the nickname been? The _Cat_, yeah that sounded right. Sam had cited the origins of Harry's nickname as being from a folksong about a cat who wouldn't die.

For the love of-, "Sam, enough! Harry can't help you break the Deal! The poor guy probably doesn't even know why the reapers were batting for him in the first place. And do I _have _to keep reminding you about the terms of the deal? I try weaseling out of it in any way, you die, and my soul is forfeit anyway. So just stop it! Please."

The 'please' was probably the only thing that saved Dean from a long-winded bitch-fest. He was just so fucking tired. Tired of having this same argument with his little brother over and over again. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands covering his face. All he wanted to do, was hunt with his brother, and enjoy what little time he had left. Was that too much to ask for? The deal was air tight. Do not pass 'go' do not collect $200.

He let his hands fall to dangle between his knees as he gazed at Sam. The big girl looked like he was about to cry. Eyelashes fluttering as he blinked rapidly, stoic tenseness in his jaw. Dean shook his head and looked away. He knew that Sam wouldn't just give up. But he hoped to at least de-rail any crazy ideas involving one slightly insane, unstable hunter named Harry.

Come time for lights out, they both lay tense and unmoving side by side on the queen sized bed. The air between them felt thick enough to cut with a knife. Once or twice, Dean made as if to say something, but stopped himself before any sound could get out. Neither brother talked for the rest of the night. Dean knew that this was going to be one long ass hunt.


	5. Take a Long Line

~^Chapter 5~^

The next morning found Harry and Bobby trekking through a forest in the heart of Grand Island. The wizard felt, and Bobby thought he looked, like a zombie. The dark bruises under his eyes had seemed to double over night, and his head pounded as if some god were hammering away inside. His hands were steady as he carried the army duffel loaded with their weapons and supplies, but his feet stumbled with every uneven patch of earth he came upon.

Normally he would not have a hangover from just whiskey, but the rate at which he had guzzled it the night before had sealed the deal. At the very least he was thankful the sun was covered by clouds and the bright gray sky further obscured by the dense canopy of trees over head. Otherwise there would have been no force short of the apocalypse that could have dragged him from the motel room. He glared silently at Bobby's back as the older man took point. No force short of the apocalypse, aside from the older hunter. The man was vicious with hangover victims.

Shaking his head, Harry turned his attention to their surroundings. They had already interviewed some campers as they were leaving on the ferry back to the mainland. They had reported strange noises at night, and one hiker had mentioned stumbling upon the remains of a grizzly bear towards the northern shoreline. According to the man, the bear had looked like it was flayed alive and then torn apart. While Harry didn't have much knowledge of American wildlife, he knew that a grizzly bear was a bitch to take down for a human, or even other bears.

The human deaths had occurred on the nights of the full moon, however after talking to local authorities, they discovered that two more bodies had turned up in the past forty-eight hours, breaking the pattern. As of eleven in the morning that day, all campers were accounted for and safely back on the main land. A small handful of rangers remained on the island investigating. For the most part, Harry and Bobby had the run of the place. FBI badges were wonderful things.

The young man froze in his tracks, something in the bushes catching his eye. Crouching, he gingerly reached out and picked up the object. Opening his fingers, Harry frowned. Bobby back tracked and stood over him looking solemn. He was staring grimly at the discovery.

"Is that what I think it is?"

A silver pendent glittered innocently from his palm, catching light from a non-existence source and reflecting it out. Harry stared at the symbols carved in the smooth metal. A feeling of dread encompassed him as he slowly nodded. Grinding his teeth, Harry dropped the coin as though burned and reached into his back pocket for a handkerchief, then proceeded to carefully wrap the coin up in the cloth without touching it further.

"It's the seal of Janus. What the hell is it doing out here?" Harry spat in the dirt and climbed to his feet, stuffing the concealed coin in his pocket. He ignored Bobby's look of surprise as they continued their hike.

"How did you know that? It's a fairly obscure legend, and in most of 'em he's referred to as Bifrons."

"While searching for ways to kill Voldemort, I read some fairly obscure books. In my world, 'Bifrons' and 'Janus' are interchangeable with each other. I remember the general reference to him, but not the specific facts..."

Bobby nodded, recognizing the prompt. He cleared his throat and explained, "I can't say for sure without double checking my books, but from what I remember, Bifrons is a lesser demon. He was worshiped as a god by the Romans, sometimes called Janus. He's two-faced. Metaphorically at least."

The man paused and took out a flask, handing it to Harry. "Here, douse that coin in this and see what happens. Holy water. I don't believe in coincidences, 'specially with people turning up dead and the sigil of a demon showing up."

They stopped as Harry fished the kerchief from his pocket and tipped the flask over it. Almost immediately the cloth began smoking, emitting hisses and sizzling noises as if the coin beneath had become super-heated. Luckily it was not the actual case. They shared a look of grim acceptance before continuing on. Harry kept the coin out this time, occasionally dribbling more holy water over it when the cloth started becoming too dry for comfort.

"Now, Janus is a pretty nasty piece of work. He appears to people in the guise of a youthful, friendly man, offers to show them the location of buried treasure or some such nonsense. And if the person accepts his offer.... It's basically the same as a cross-roads deal. He leads them out into the middle of nowhere, then legend goes, he conjures their treasure, then changes. Becomes the monster straight out of nightmares. He devours their souls and then desecrates the corpses."

Harry nodded, some knowledge coming back to him as Bobby spoke. A snapping twig ahead of them on the trail prompted them to freeze in their tracks and draw their weapons. Bobby cocked his shotgun menacingly, slowly and silently creeping forward. Harry kept pace, pistol trained at the ground, eyes trailing over the forest at their sides and back. Their position was perfect for getting ambushed.

Movement became apparent ahead, as a body moved through the underbrush. Bobby tensed at Harry's back, the wizard turned and stared over the man's shoulder, trying to glimpse the thing. A neon orange vest was the first thing they caught sight of, followed swiftly by dark green jacket and tan khaki pants. Neither of them relaxed as the recognized the outfit of a forest ranger, but they did lower their weapons.

The man glanced up from a GPS unit in his left hand and blinked in surprise at them, stuttering to a halt. The hunters didn't recognize him from the station near the dock, but Harry recalled that two of the seven resident officers on the island had been dispatched to do rounds of the camp sites to make sure there were no stragglers. Suspicion colored his mind as he also recalled that those two officers had supposedly ridden out in a golf cart early that morning.

The ranger dropped his right hand to his side-arm, but did not draw as he stepped closer. His eyes narrowed on their guns.

"Who are you? State your name and business!" The ranger was demanding, but understandably so. Bobby and Harry slowly reached into their pockets and procured the fake badges. Harry stepped forward, hurriedly stowing the coin, and extended his hand. He forced a friendly grin to his face.

"Sorry 'bout that. I'm Agent Freeman, this is my partner, Agent Smith, of the FBI. We're with the Marquette resident agency. We heard about your troubles and were dispatched to see if it's our kind of trouble. You wouldn't happen to be Kenny or Alec would ya?"

The ranger relaxed and shook Harry's hand, nearly crushing it. The ranger was not a small man. He vaguely resembled a bear in the wizard's opinion. Certainly he was big enough to be mistaken for one. His voice, contrary to appearance, was a light, pleasant tenor as he responded to Harry's question.

"I'm Alec. Sorry to surprise you. Kenny and I got separated a bit ago. I'm trying to get back to the office to see if he's radioed in. The cart battery died so we had to walk from the northern camp. Weirdest thing. Kenny wandered off a ways to take a leak; never came back. It's easy to get turned around if you go off the trails though, and he went in pretty far."

Bobby shuffled up to stand next to them and took over the questioning. Harry was not familiar with standard procedure of local game and wildlife officers. They had agreed that Bobby would handle that aspect of things.

"What happened to your radio unit?"

"We only had one radio and one GPS between us. We didn't expect to run into any trouble with all the campers gone. It was a routine inspection. Kenny has the radio, and I have the GPS."

Frowning, Bobby motioned for them to start walking. Harry trailed slightly behind, flanking the ranger with his pistol still out by his side. The story was probable, but unlikely. One thing Harry did know was that all officers were required to carry at least a radio with them. The older hunter had the same thought.

"If you don't mind me asking, why only one radio?"

The ranger laughed it off. "Mine was charging in the cart. Battery died on it shortly after we inspected the second camp area. It didn't have enough juice to bother bringing it with us when we left on foot. We got ahold of HQ on Kenny's and let them know about it."

The answer set Harry on edge. The way the man laughed about it, the way he seemed in high spirits despite his partner being missing, the relaxed swagger to his walk. For being on an island where people were being murdered, the man seemed... happy. Luckily the walk back to the ranger station went by quick. Nerves were screaming at Harry to douse the officer in holy water, just to be sure. He would have too, if the building hadn't come into view.

Only one ranger remained at the station. They were informed that the others had formed a search party for their two missing comrades after losing radio contact with Kenny. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck pricked up and a chill ran down his spine. For a moment, the coin stashed in his pocket seemed to grow heavy as he leaned against the edge of the door frame, keeping an eye on the surrounding forest while listening to Bobby and the two rangers talk inside.

Things were heating up faster than Harry had thought possible. This was only supposed to be a routine werewolf hunt, now it was a possible case of demonic presence. The hunter shuffled his feet and glanced around uneasily as the wind picked up. His mind turned to possible exorcisms or summoning spells that could be used to take out any demons in the area. Finding a sigil of Janus out in the middle of the woods was not normal under any circumstance.

What he and Bobby needed to do, was go back to the motel and call in reinforcements. Or if all else failed, a good ol' summoning ritual to call the demon to them. There were devils traps and powerful binding spells laced throughout their room. They should be able to hold a lesser demon long enough for the Resurrection Stone to do its work. Prior experience told Harry that it would be the easiest, fastest rout to taking care of the problem. The issue was that they now had several civilians in the mix and possibly being led into the slaughter at that very moment.

Harry glanced up as Bobby exited the building. The man did not look happy, which set the wizard on edge even more. Before he could ask, Bobby shook his head and motioned to a spot away from the building before moving there himself, Harry following. They spoke in hushed voices, Harry watching the building for signs of movement.

"What's going on?"

"Apparently one of the men radioed in claiming that he'd found Kenny's body at the bottom of a cliff. But when the rest of the search party got there there was no body, and the man who reported it was missing. There's talk of calling in reinforcements."

"Which isn't good for us."

"Exactly. I told 'em we'd go back to the mainland to inform the local Sheriff."

Harry pondered this a moment, remembering his previous thoughts on drawing the demon out. It was a risky prospect, but they didn't have much choice it seemed. Bobby agreed after hearing Harry's idea. They would take one of the patrol boats back to the mainland before heading back to the hotel. Luckily Bobby had anticipated the need to bring a book of exorcisms with him.

The trip across the lake seemed to take longer than it had going to the island. The coin felt like a lead weight in Harry's pocket the closer they got to the city docks. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and bumps spotted his arms by the time he stepped foot back on dry land. Bobby was shooting him strange looks, but seemed to understand.

As a precaution against unwanted attention, Bobby stopped at a payphone to call the police department while Harry continued on to their hotel room. He would feel a hell of a lot better once the coin was safely situated in the center of a devil's trap.

Out of curiosity, as well as paranoia, Harry collected the rooms ashtray and emptied it of spent butts before washing it and filling it with holy water. Taking it to the center of the largest devil's trap he sat it down, careful not to spill water on the chalk. This time when he removed the coin from his pocket it really did heat up. It felt like a brand was searing the flesh of his palm.

Quickly, before the nerves in his fingers caused him to drop it outside the make-shift bowl, he plopped it into the holy water, handkerchief and all. As before, the coin hissed and sizzled, this time with accompanying heat. Luckily the thick glass held firm against the metal.

Harry stumbled out of the circle and checked his hand. It was angry red, blisters already forming. Thankfully the sigil markings had been blocked by the cloth, or they would have had a whole new set of problems to deal with. He glanced up as Bobby returned.

"Good thinking with that."

Bobby nodded towards the trap before scavenging in one of his bags. An old journal and small first aid kit were tossed to the wizard before the older man camped at the small table with a battered looking book. Harry gratefully used the time to bandage his hand before flipping open the journal. He recognized Bobby's sloppy scrawl immediately.

He quickly thumbed through the pages, browsing the contents for anything referring to Janus, or demon summoning. The passage he was looking for was near the back of the journal, hidden behind a news paper clipping. The ritual was non-specific and generalized, ensuring that it could be altered to fit which ever demon the caster needed. Harry had to wonder why Bobby would have such a potentially dangerous spell in his journal.

He didn't question it though, as he read over the components they would need. Now that the older hunter knew of his wizard status, Harry could easily conjure most of the items; the rest he kept in stock in the false bottom of his trunk. To summon Janus specifically, they already had the demon's coin and sigil.

He glanced up as Bobby growled. "Damn it! Someone ripped out the page I need for the exorcism!"

They exchanged a wary glance. Harry knew that Bobby would never be so careless about his books; and no one would have had the opportunity to steal the page before they left for Grand Island. It was certainly bad news.

"The demon. Or someone working for the demon? If he knows we're here...."

His gaze snapped to the coin and he had to wonder at the unlikely coincidence of them being the ones to find it. They had been set up. But for what? Harry focused on Bobby as the older man snapped open his cell phone and jabbed at the buttons.

"Dean, put Sam on, I need information on an exorcism.... Don't be smart with me, boy! Just get me your brother.... Sam, I need a specific exorcism from John's journal; should be near the beginning, the Binding of Lesser Daemons.... Yeah well, me and Harry ran into some trouble. Yeah, turns out it was a demon involved, and it looks like he caught wind of us.... I'll explain later, just read me the exorcism."

Bobby grabbed up the hotel stationary pad and a pen and began jotting down what ever passage Sam was reading him. Harry, wanting to feel useful, brought out the Elder Wand and began quietly conjuring the required items for the summoning. Very technically it was stealing, since conjured items had to come from somewhere, but Harry had long ago taken to not caring about such rules. He ignored a look Bobby shot his way as he began setting up, tuning out the conversation over the phone until something caught his attention.

"What? You're tellin' me that John's calling you from beyond the grave? It can't be John...."

Alarm jolted up his spine as Harry strode over and snatched the phone from Bobby. Studiously ignoring the older hunter's glare, he pressed the phone to his ear, "Hey Sam, it's Harry. Listen, there are many creatures that can mimic the human voice."

"_I know, but Dean's not listening."_

"Put him on. I believe I have something to say that he needs to hear."

"_Alright, hang on."_

There was a thump on the other end of the line, followed by faint swearing and a scuffle. Harry winced and held the phone away from his ear as someone, definitely Dean, yelled at Sam, using a few choice words which Harry wasn't even sure were real. Finally the line clicked and a very disgruntled Dean spoke up.

"_Yeah, Harry, what d'ya want?" _

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. The brothers reminded him faintly of the Weasley siblings.

"Dean, Sam told us about how your hunt is going. Listen, what ever it is can _not _be your dad. There are creatures out there that can easily mimic a person's voice; they do so to either lure people into danger, or to lure them into death, or both."

There was a pause so long that Harry feared the Winchester had hung up on him. _"How do you know though? Sure, you met our dad a couple times, but I'm his son, I'm pretty sure I can tell his voice from a damn creature's."_

A low growl to Dean's voice informed Harry loud and clear that the man was highly agitated, but he held fast. He glanced over at Bobby and saw that he was going about setting up a second Devil's trap on the ceiling of the room, overlapping, but not parallel to the one on the floor. He knew the other hunter was listening in on the one-sided conversation. He fidgeted a moment before striding into the bathroom and closing the door. He trusted Bobby with his life, but some things he wasn't ready for the man to know.

He spoke quietly into the speaker.

"Dean, you've been hunting for how many years now?"

"_...."_

Taking the silence as an answer, Harry continued, "You _know _that such things don't just happen. When a dead person begins calling you during a hunt where people have been _killing themselves_, nothing good can ever come from it."

"_How do you know?" _

Harry drew out a long sigh. There was the question he had been anticipating, and the reason he had retreated into the semi-privacy of the lavatory.

"Dean... you remember what I told you, about my life before hunting?"

"_...Yeah.... But what's that gotta do with-"_

Harry cut him off sharply. "I had visions of what Tom was doing. I watched as he and his followers tortured and murdered countless innocent people, and every single time, our intelligence revealed that my visions had come true. The problem with this is, that Tom eventually realized that I was seeing what he was doing and planning. When I was fifteen, I began having visions that Tom was torturing my godfather. I thought that the visions were of real events.... I left the safety of my school and went after Tom and his followers, foolishly not waiting for backup, save five others my own age.

"We went to the place where Sirius, my godfather, was supposedly being held, only to find out that it was all a set-up. A _trap_. Sirius was in no danger before I went off half-cocked believing what my visions were telling me. My friends were all injured, a couple of them nearly dying. And in the end, my godfather showed up to save the day. He died because of it.

"Tom had found out about our connection, and was manipulating it by sending me false visions to lead me into danger. And Sirius died because I didn't check my information; I didn't even think of the possibility that Tom could manipulate me so effectively; all I could think about was that my visions were always true, and that my only family was being tortured to death."

There was another long pause on the other end. Harry blinked rapidly and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking the time to compose himself. Sirius was still a very touchy subject, even after all these years. No matter what anyone said about it, Harry still firmly believed that his godfather's death was his fault. Voldemort may have been manipulating him, but he had run to the Department of Mysteries of his own volition.

"_I... get what you're saying, damnit!"_

"Good. Then heed my warning. Believe what you wish, but don't go running blindly into a situation just because your dead father tells you to. Stick close to Sam, and work as a team on this. I know you don't know me as well as you do Bobby, but believe me when I tell you that you will regret it for the rest of your life if someone dies because of your blind faith that this creature really is your dad."

Harry startled as a loud bang sounded over the line, wincing, he realized that it was the sound of a phone being thrown against a wall. He waited patiently for a few seconds before Sam's voice gingerly inquired if he was still on the line.

"_Harry? You still there? What the hell did you say to him?"_

The wizard coughed. "I gave him some sound advice. See that he follows it. His judgment is clouded right now. Keep him from doing anything stupid that the phone tells him to do. Once Bobby and I are finished up here I'll make my way to you."

"_Alright. I'll keep you posted."_

As Harry stepped out of the bathroom he shot Bobby an apologetic look, handing him the phone. The older man simply shook his head. Glancing around the room, Harry was pleased and slightly guilty to see that Bobby had set everything up himself. Putting his conversation with the brothers to the back of his mind, Harry mentally prepared himself as he gave Bobby the go-ahead to begin the summoning.

As Bobby began chanting, Harry quickly surveyed the set-up. The summoning circle was situated just below the Devil's trap, ensuring that when the demon appeared it would have no where to go. Harry reached over and snagged the exorcism from the table next to Bobby. As soon as a body or black smoke appeared, he would begin reading. He wanted to get this hunt over with as quickly as possible in case the Milan hunt went south for the Winchesters.

A thought occurred to him however, as Bobby reached the peak of his chanting. Janus may be a lesser demon, but he was still vaguely popular in the modern era. The entire situation with Dean's deal and Harry's visions may be connected, and here he and Bobby were, summoning a demon who may have information.

It was a risky move on Harry's part, but he readied the holy water as Bobby's voice tapered off. The room was still for a moment, as if the very air were holding its breath. Harry's neck itched at the sudden silence. He and Bobby exchanged a look as a knock sounded at their door.

They readied their weapons as Harry creeped silently towards the door. Peering through the peephole he spied a young man loitering in front of the door. Harry couldn't remember ever seeing him before. Nodding to Bobby, he stepped to the side of the door, hiding his pistol behind his back, and opened the door.

The man blinked down at Harry and grinned sheepishly. It would have been a cute smile, if the feel of the man hadn't set Harry's skin to crawling. He pasted a friendly smile on his face and shrugged the unease away.

"May I help you?"

The man blushed and nodded. "Yeah, um, this is a bit embarrassing. I locked myself out of my room, and the manager isn't in the office. My wife has my cell phone and the other key. Could I possibly use your phone to call her?"

"Yeah, sure. Come on in."

Harry stepped aside and tightened his grip on the pistol. While they were talking, Bobby had creeped over to stand behind the door. The second the man entered the threshold, Bobby slammed the door shut and Harry shoved the man from behind, sending him careening under the Devil's Trap. His eyes turned black, and Harry nodded, locking the door and reaching for a canister of salt to re-secure the room. They didn't know of Janus had any friends with him, and they didn't need any unexpected interruptions.

"Well this is quite embarrassing. It seems I'm out of practice when dealing with hunters. I forgot that you're all quite a bit smarter than regular folk."

Bobby looked to Harry and gestured towards the exorcism still clutched in his fist along with the gun, but Harry shook his head. Bobby didn't look too happy when the wizard stepped up to the invisible barrier and stared at the demon. The demon stared back, looking thoughtful, which did not bode well in Harry's opinion.

Janus broke the silence, "Do I know you? You look eerily familiar.... Oh...."

The demon threw his head back and cackled, causing Harry to take a step back. Janus jumped up and down, still laughing, as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. Harry spitefully wished it would kill the demon.

"Harry, we should just do the exorcism and be done with it."

The wizard shook his head sharply, still eying the demon. "No, he may have information we need."

"Harry-"

"No, Bobby. Dean's deal is almost up, and I'm tired of the visions."

The demon quieted suddenly, still focused on Harry. "Oooh, poor little, baby Harry having visions again? Bella sends her regards, by the way. She says she enjoys her time with her cousin on the rack. Apparently he screams so prettily. Too bad I wasn't stationed in his section. Sirius is prime entertainment for not breaking. Even after all these years, he still calls out for his Harry to come rescue him."

Harry felt as if he were doused in ice water and red began filling his vision. "You shut your mouth about Sirius, you arsehole!"

Janus laughed again, "Oh, so fierce! I can see why that wand of yours will chose no other master. Did that old coot ever tell you the full story behind those Hallows of yours? Such a fascinating tale!"

"Harry! Just do the exorcism! He's trying to bait you into making a mistake!"

Harry ignored Bobby, pacing in agitation around the trap. His thoughts raced, head pounding from trying to reign in his temper. He knew the demon was trying to bait him, but the barbs about Sirius hit too close. Drawing in a deep breath, his brow furrowed as he forced his thoughts to the comment about the Hallows. What could a demon possibly know about the Hallows history that he or Dumbledore did not. Beedle and the Bard had contained the full tale when Luna's father had directed them read it.

He spun on his heel to face the demon once more, glaring into its black eyes. "What do you know of the Hallows?"

"Oh, I thought that would catch your attention. But tell me, what's the information worth to you?"

Harry rolled his eyes and opened the cork on the bottle of holy water before flinging the contents at the evil minion. He screamed as the first droplets made contact with his skin. Harry watched dispassionately, setting the flask and his gun on the table before fiddling with the Resurrection Stone. The movement caught the demon's attention, and for the first time, Harry witnessed a demon truly afraid.

Of course, the evil bastard didn't give much physical indication, but a nervous tick in his jaw gave him away. It was Harry's time to smirk as he lifted his hand and held it just shy of passing through the trap's barrier. This time the demon flinched. Bobby made a thoughtful noise at that.

"This stone is part of a set of three Hallows. It has the ability to briefly summon souls from beyond the veil of death. Or it has the ability to snuff out and consume the soul of any person, or thing, that touches it while the wearer wishes it." He explained for Bobby's benefit, and as a reminder to the demon.

"I'll make _you _a deal, Janus. You tell me what you know of the Hallows, and of Dean Winchester's deal, and I will simply exorcise you, rather than destroy you."

The demon looked down right rebellious until he glanced at the second Devil's trap next to his, and spotted his coin. He licked his lips nervously and nodded. His eyes flickered between Harry and the coin. Bobby, mostly silent up until then, growled.

"Don't even think about it. You get that coin, ain't no way you're getting out of here either way. If the traps don't hold, Harry kills you anyway. I suggest you sit tight and start singing."

Janus glared and began pacing. "Fine! You have a deal! I don't know much about the Hallows, but I do know that there is _nothing _on this planet that could have made them. I know that before they came into the hands of the Peverell brothers, they belonged to another 'being' of great power. No human, not even wizards," He sneered, "can 'master death'. Old Voldy tried, and look where that got him. Guy was in rough shape towards the end. Whoo terrible skin."

He grinned and chuckled at his own joke. Seeing that neither Bobby or Harry were amused, he sighed. "Wow, tough crowd. Listen, that's all I know about the Hallows, I swear. Now, Dean, on the other hand.... I know that the only way to break his deal is to kill the demon holding the contract. Lilith, she's the one. I don't know where she is though. Kill her, and you'll free Dean, save his soul. Of course, you'd have a bounty on your head if you did. She's quite popular in Hell."

He clapped his hands together and looked expectantly at Harry, who frowned. "That's it? That's all you know? That's not worth anything to me."

"Hey! We made a deal, now follow through!"

Harry tilted his head to the side and smirked slyly at Bobby. The older hunter shrugged and shook his head. He didn't care which rout Harry took, so long as it ended in a dead or exorcised demon. Although, after this he and Harry were going to have another long talk. The kid had a lot of explaining to do about those Hallows. Being a wizard, Bobby could understand, but carrying around a stone that can steal souls was entirely another can of worms.

Harry dropped his hands to his sides and stuffed them in his jeans pocket, causing Janus to relax. He grinned impishly at the demon though, and fear flashed across his face once more. "I'll tell you what. Tell me what you know of a demon named Ruby, and we'll exorcise you."

The demon looked outraged and lunged at Harry. The wizard laughed in his face as he struggled against invisible bonds. He snarled at Harry, "We had a deal!"

"I'm sorry, I thought we were playing your game, Janus. May I call you Bifrons? Anyway," Harry chuckled and stepped away, turning his back on the demon as he picked up the flask of holy water again. He was firmly in interrogation mode, emotions suppressed, and his only goal was getting the demon to talk. Another thing the English Ministry had coerced him into doing for them after the war.

"I believe that the game of demons is to up the stakes. Isn't it?" He turned and glanced at the enraged minion with a smirk. "So, how about you tell me about Ruby, and we all go about our day in bliss?"

"Ruby's just a lowbie bitch! She broke out of the pit, has a bounty on her head! She use to be one of Lilith's! Now let me the fuck out of here!"

Harry sighed and hung his head for a moment, pretending to think about it. Bobby shifted uncomfortably at his friend's sudden shift of behavior. The wizard could be a cocky son of a bitch sometimes, but he's never before witnessed Harry in this state. Despite his up-beat attitude at the moment, Bobby could see that the boy's eyes were blank.

Before hunter or demon could react, Harry whirled around and doused Janus in the rest of the holy water. Stepping into the trap, quick as a snake, his hand snapped out and latched onto the demon's face, ring pressing firmly against his forehead. In less than a second the ring's power flared, blinding Bobby and the demon, paradoxically, in a flash of black light.


	6. Hard Working Man

~^Chapter 6~^

Illinois was a rather drab place by human standards. Gray pavement, brick and steel buildings, and busy people rushing about like ants on a disturbed mound. Nature was slowly dying, being overtaken by suburban sprawl or agriculture. Castiel could not understand the appeal of existing in such a place. Humans were given a unique gift, and here they were, squandering it with trivialities. Humans appealed to him on an individual level, however as whole he quite agreed with Uriel's opinion of them.

Many years had passed in the mortal plain since the angel last graced it with his presence. His superiors finally deemed him fit enough to resume his duties on the battle front. Already he longed for home. His new objective was to convince a new human to become his vessel. His last had died during his forced extraction by the Archangel. He shuddered at the remembered agony.

One did not go against orders lightly. The current vessel, Jimmy Novak, was a good man, devout in his belief of God. One of the few humans able to withstand his true voice and visage, Castiel was pleased that Jimmy seemed convicted enough to accept his calling to God's service. It was an honor that few humans had ever been granted. The angel's last vessel had been superficial; only accepting his duty because of imaginings of great riches and honors being bestowed upon him in Heaven.

Thoughts of his old vessel led to thoughts of his old objectives. The two boys known as Harry Potter and Dean Winchester. Mild curiosity burned as to their current fates, but was quickly stifled. Zachariah had given specific orders to forget about his two charges. He would acknowledge them when God wanted them acknowledged. Castiel was simply a foot soldier, and in no position to further go against his superiors.

A shout drew the being's attention back to the vessel. Jimmy was finally ready. Slowly unfurling his grace, he allowed the vessel to finally glimpse his full glory. As the human blinked in stunned awe Castiel murmured.

"Jimmy Novak, I understand your plight. I pledge that if you accept your service to the Lord, I will protect your family to the best of my ability."

"Then... yes."

Almost before the words fully left the vessel's lips, Castiel drew his power in tightly and coiled as gently as possible down the man's throat. It was done in the blink of an eye. The sudden change was disorienting. Jimmy's consciousness was safely tethered away, but the physical body felt constraining, suffocating to the angel. He would be unable to use the full scope of his powers until he was use to once again inhabiting a vessel, for fear of damaging it.

Faintly a whisper echoed through the back of his mind, making him stand up straighter. New orders were being issued. It shocked him greatly to realize that it was Michael and not Zachariah. The Archangel was rarely seen, let alone heard, outside the presence of the High Tier.

"_Castiel, I have sought Revelation. You are to report directly to me from now on. Any orders from Zachariah are to be followed with caution, however not outright dissent. Your new objective is to aid in stopping the destruction of the sixty-six seals. You must resume your old post guarding Dean Winchester and Harry Potter. Use any means at your disposal to keep them safe. You will soon find them in the same location. Seek them in the land now known as 'Ohio'."_

The presence was gone as suddenly as it had appeared. Even an angel can feel shock and confusion if the situation warrants it. The sudden communication with one of the Four made the celestial being reel. Simple orders to assess the demonic presence on the human plain had just turned that much more complicated. Castiel knew all too well of the Sixty-Six Seals and their implications. Now was not the time for caution.

With regard only to ensure the vessel was not destroyed by the show of power, Castiel spread his wings and was gone.

* * *

"_Harry, when are we gonna talk about this? You're toting around a relic than can destroy a person's soul for christ's sake."_

The wizard loosed an aggravated sigh and pressed his foot down harder on the pedal. He was on his way back to Ohio, as promised to the Winchesters. He and Bobby had packed up and gotten the hell out of dodge the second they had both recovered from the power of the Stone. The kid Janus had been possessing was still alive, they had left him in an alleyway behind the hotel. Bobby was heading back to South Dakota, but that didn't stop him from pestering Harry with phone calls wanting to know about the Resurrection Stone and the Hallows.

"Bobby, I already told you, the stone is powered by will and intent. Someone who doesn't know how to work it, can't work it at all. They've been in my family for ages, and so far I'm the only one able to use all of them effectively."

"_You of course realize that you're gonna have to clue Sam and Dean in on these things if you're all gonna be hunting together. They'll figure it out eventually, and when they do they'll come gunning for you if they don't hear it from you directly."_

"I know, Bobby. I'll talk to them about it after I clue them in on Lilith and Ruby."

"_Yeah well, you better. I don't wanna deal with a pissy Dean bangin' on my door in the middle of the night wanting to know why I didn't tell them you made a deal for your powers."_

The line clicked and Harry growled as he tossed the cell phone to the passenger seat. He loved Bobby like a father but the man was damned annoying at times. He was just pulling into the hotel parking lot after a fifteen hour drive. It was after midnight and he was tired.

Eying the No Vacancy sign with disdain, Harry shrugged and grumbled darkly to himself. He hoped the Winchesters were up for another body in their room. Shutting the ignition off he climbed out of the car and stretched, sighing in satisfaction at the faint popping sounds. While the hunt hadn't been overly physical, he was still nursing a faint headache, and the exorcism had been emotional.

Gathering his bags from the back seat he marched past the black Impala and banged on the room door without hesitation. He had to assume they were sleeping, but he couldn't honestly bring himself to care. He sagged against the jam and blinked tiredly at his feet. Listening hard, he could barely make out sleepy grunts of displeasure and the sound of footsteps.

He made an effort to stand up straight when the exhausted face of Sam peered at him from the small window by the side of the door. Harry must have failed miserably at it because almost immediately the younger man looked concerned and opened the locks.

"Harry? What are you doing here so soon? I would have thought you and Bobby'd take some downtime before you tracked us down. Come on in." He yawned as he stepped back and waved the wizard over the threshold.

"Thank you, mate."

Dean muttered curses and retreated fully under the cocoon of blankets like a startled wombat when Sam turned on one of the lamps. Harry would have laughed if he hadn't noticed that both brothers seemed wrung out and just as drained as he did at the moment. Of course, it could have simply been that it was the middle of the night after a long hunt.

Before Sam could question him, Harry shook his head and dropped his bags next to the table. "I'll tell you both about the hunt tomorrow. Right now all I need is a pillow and a nice long sleep. Same with you I suspect."

Nodding silently, Sam dug through a small dresser that also housed the TV and tossed him a pillow and two threadbare blankets. Unfolding the cloth, Harry spread both over the only clear space in front of the door and curled up like a cat on top of them, still in his jacket and boots. One of the only good things the Dursleys had ever done for him was ensure that he could fall asleep easily in uncomfortable, small spaces.

Almost before the light was extinguished, he was asleep.

* * *

Harry knew he was dreaming almost immediately after he opened his eyes. For starters, he recalled falling asleep on the floor of the hotel room in Ohio, not on top of Dumbledore's tomb at Hogwarts. Another tip was that the place was completely deserted for apparently being mid afternoon in the middle of October. The lack of cold or sound despite the season around him was the deciding factor.

Sitting up, he both marveled and dreaded having such a vivid and life-like dream. He very much hoped that it wasn't a vision. Taking a moment to stare up at the castle, he was nearly overwhelmed with feelings of homesickness. He had dreamed of the great halls of Hogwarts since his exile, none of them had ever been good. The happy memories of his first and only real home were heavily outweighed by the bad.

Twisting around, he blinked at the dazzling blues and greens highlighted in the lake underneath the sparkling sun. It was a beautiful sight after years of such hardship in America. For a moment he was lost in memory upon spotting the tree he and his friends use to hang out under during breaks. That tree had witnessed so much love and hatred over the years.

It had kept him company when he was hiding from his classmates during second and fourth year. It had seen his bumbling smittenness over Ginny during fifth year, and again during their first kiss. That tree had also watched on as he attempted to break up with Ginny after sixth year. It also bore its own battle scars from stray curses during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Tears burned as he stared at it, thinking of years long past. He would never get to see that tree, or any of Hogwarts, again except in dreams. He blinked rapidly and scrubbed furiously at his eyes. It was simply a blasted dream! He shouldn't be getting this emotional over it. It had been years since he escaped, such thoughts should have been long gone by now.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a gruff voice broke the unnatural silence of the landscape.

"Hello Harry."

He nearly gave himself whiplash as he whirled back around and jumped to his feet, hands instinctively reaching for weapons that were not there in this dream. His gaze fell on the body that matched the voice. A strange looking fellow, given the surroundings, and one that he could not recall ever having seen in his life.

Tousled brown hair that could have given Harry's a run for its money back when he wore it short was the first thing he noticed. Followed up quickly by blue eyes and tired, bruised eye sockets. The wizard could swear he could feel those eyes piercing into his very soul, with the way the stranger was staring at him. The man was tall and donned a tan trench coat over a casual business suit.

Wariness dictated that Harry stay still and alert, not making the first move. Call him paranoid, but a strange man showing up in a life-like dream of his old school couldn't generally bode well. Blue eyes blinked slowly, assessingly, and the man seemed to nod to himself before taking a step closer.

"It is good to finally see you again. I am Castiel."

The hinted implications made Harry twitch. "I don't know you, but you know me. Who are you and how are you in my dream?"

The stranger, Castiel, tilted his head to the side, expression earnest. "I was assigned to watch over you many years ago. I was... reassigned when you were twelve years old."

Growling, Harry kicked backwards at the tomb and glared, "That doesn't answer my questions. Are you a member of the Order sent to detain me? A Death Eater hell bent on killing me? Ministry official attempting to find my location so as to lock me up for the rest of my unnatural life? You're apparently in _my _dreams, so give me a goddamned straight answer!"

A confused look stole over the man's face, followed quickly by recognition. Harry continued glaring, fear burning in the pit of his stomach. If this was some attempt to find him by his old connections, then he was royally screwed. He had never heard of any sort of wizard magic that let one walk in peoples dreams. The man seemed far too real at this point for him to simply be a dream figment.

Of all the answers he was expecting, the one he got thew him for a loop.

"My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Heavenly Host sent on orders from the Archangel Michael to aid you and the Winchesters. This was... the easiest method of contacting you. Time is short so listen well. You mustbreak Dean's contract. Use _any _means at your disposal."

In the blink of an eye the apparent angel was standing nose to nose with the wizard. Harry tried valiantly to suppress a flinch, but must have failed miserably as Castiel's expression closed off and became cold. The hunter attempted to open his mouth to protest the close proximity, but before he could get anything out, the angel lifted his hand and tapped him lightly on the forehead.

In the blink of an eye Harry found himself sitting bolt up-right on the hotel room floor, Sam nudging at him with a booted foot. The dream and sudden awakening made him feel slightly panicked, and it must have shown on his face as Sam looked concerned. "Hey, sorry. I'm, uh, going to get some coffee and breakfast. Do you want to come along, or do you want anything?"

Mind working furiously, Harry scrambled quietly to his feet and nearly fell over as the blankets tangled around his boots. Sam grabbed his arm and he blinked and nodded thankfully, carefully kicking the blankets away. Glancing at the bed he saw that Dean was still sleeping despite the sliver of sunlight slowly creeping up his face towards his eyes.

"I'll go with, mate. I believe you and I have some things to discuss."

Several minutes later found the two hunters walking down the stretch of road into town. They had opted to brave the twenty minute walk so they would have more time to talk. That and Sam claimed that Dean hid the Impala keys from him last night. The air was stifling between them. Sam seemed nervous, and Harry was silent as he contemplated the strange, life-like dream.

The younger hunter finally broke the silence, fidgeting and shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. "You, uh, you know about Dean's deal...." Sam eyed Harry out of the corner of his eye and hesitated, fighting to pull his thoughts together. Truthfully the youngest Winchester was slightly intimidated by the small man beside him. Despite being a full head shorter than him, the older hunter seemed to exude an aura of dangerous power. An aura that Dean was either ignoring or oblivious to.

Shaking his head, Sam paused and came to a halt, facing Harry. The other man seemed confused but followed suit, looking expectant.

"I've heard other hunters talk about you.... Or at least I think it was you." Sam pushed a frustrated hand through his hair, fighting for words. "Hunters at the Roadhouse, back before.... Anyway, they claimed that you couldn't die...."

Sam kept his gaze sharp on the others reaction, trying to pick out any tells from the man's suddenly stoic features. The absent thought that the man must be killer at poker was pushed aside. Sam wanted, no, _needed _answers, and this man could have them. There was a long pause as they stared at each other before finally, Harry shook his head and sighed, kicking at the ground.

"I am human, I can die, and eventually I will die...."

Harry seemed nervous as he glanced around, eying the passing cars and sparse trees. "There are, however, some things that I can do to up my survival rate. If you're asking because you think I can break Dean's deal.... I honestly have no clue what I can do about that."

The answer did not please Sam, but he nodded in understanding. He was curious about the hunter's comments, but before he could ask, Harry shook his head. "I'll only explain once."

The older man turned and continued walking. For being short, he sure cold move fast, as Sam had to jog slightly to catch up. They continued the trek in silence, only speaking once they reached the nearest diner to order food. Sam was impatient to reach the motel room once again so he could drag information out of Harry, causing him to set a fast pace during the walk back. The bemused wizard easily kept up, shaking his head in amusement and slight sadness. The youngest Winchester reminded him a bit of Hermione.

Upon reaching the motel, Sam deliberately closed the door harder than normal upon entering, intent on waking Dean up if he wasn't already. He was pleased to see that the bed was empty and the bathroom door was closed. He winced slightly as he set his and Dean's food down on the table. He never would have heard the end of it if he had succeeded in waking Dean up in such a manner.

Harry seemed amused as he snagged one of the chairs and sat down, opening his food cartons. Sam hadn't paid any attention to what the man ordered, so was surprised to see the large amount of meat and fries. The Winchester couldn't suppress an aggravated noise as Harry took a large bite out of his bacon and eggs hamburger.

"What?" Came the muffled response. Sam simply shook his head and grimaced. No wonder Dean liked the other hunter so much. They acted so alike it was uncanny. Speak of the Devil, Sam looked up as the bathroom door opened and Dean finally made his entrance. Immediately he was embarrassed. His brother had obviously been in the shower, and was obviously not shy around their guest, as he wandered out in nothing but a towel.

"Dean! We have a guest, put some clothes on!"

Dean glanced up and smirked, shrugging as he bent down and grabbed his pants from the foot of the bed. "What do you think I'm doing? Anyway, I don't have anything Harry hasn't seen before. What'd you get for breakfast?"

The older man winked at Harry as Sam groaned and rubbed at his eyes. The wizard snickered under his breath and shook his head, focusing on his food once more. He ignored a nagging feeling in his stomach as Dean immodestly slipped the pants on under the towel and plopped down in the other chair without donning a shirt. Good lord, Harry hadn't been without female company for so long, had he? He mentally went quiet as he stared at his hamburger, racking his brain for an answer. After a moment his lips twitched into a scowl and he dropped the train of thought.

Luckily, or unluckily, Sam chose to break the slightly uncomfortable silence.

"So, what was it that you were going to explain earlier, Harry?"

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A/N: Long time coming, I know. I'm still having some RL issues which are distracting me from writing. Hopefully this will tide you over until I can get things together.


	7. Living on a Prayer

**~^Chapter 7~^**

Silence prevailed in the hotel room once gain, this time even more uncomfortable than the last. Harry pushed his food carton slowly to the side, staring at his hands as he did. He fidgeted. The brothers had been silent through out his explanation of his powers and neither of them looked happy as they glared at him.

He braced himself as Dean shifted to his feet and paced around the room, rubbing a hand through his hair in agitation. Sam looked as if he very dearly wished to speak, however was likewise eying Dean carefully, as if worrying over the elder Winchester's reaction. That alone was enough for Harry to tense, bracing himself for a few wrought iron rounds to the chest as Dean reached around to grab something behind his back. He held his breath and sat stock still, repressing a flinch as the brother pulled out-

A phone. Just a cell phone. Harry was both immensely relieved and morbidly disappointed as a hard stare was directed at him. Dean nearly broke the phone as he punched a number on speed dial. After a long moment it became obvious who exactly was on the other end of the line.

"Why the _hell _didn't you warn us that your little hunter pal Harry was a fricken _wizard_!? … No we haven't killed him yet, but I'm still seriously considering it! Oh! I see so he's Glinda the _Good _Witch of the- … Damn it Bobby, a guy who can kill you with a damn _thought _is _not _freaking _harmless! _Oh, oh, so I suppose the fact he has to _say _anything to kill us makes it all better? … Alright..... I said alright! Damn it Bobby, I trust you. Just not some damn hunter I've never even _heard of _before...."

Dean literally growled at what ever Bobby said in response to that. Harry was thankful it wasn't his ear the older hunter was chewing off. Though the fierce glare his amused expression received caused him to sober up. After a long pause from Dean, the hunter finally sighed, getting an odd expression somewhere between overwhelming frustration, acceptance, and annoyance.

"Fine, but if he kills us, I swear to god I will so haunt your ass."

With another growl, Dean flipped the phone closed and threw it on the bed, not quite caring as it skittered across the comforter and fell off on the other side. The uncomfortable silences were getting annoying now, as Harry drummed his fingers against the surface of the dingy table and waited for the explosion, or the threats, something, anything but the silence. After a long moment he heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes.

"I won't, you know. Kill you that is. You've talked to Bobby, what more do you want? I'm just a hunter with extra talents, if you will. Rather like Sam. I don't even really use my powers. Not unless it's required to keep myself or others alive."

Neither hunter looked convinced, though Sam still looked more wary than outright hostile. The younger brother's curiosity won out, and once more, Harry was reminded of Hermione. The hunter's eyes lit with eagerness as he leaned forward in his chair.

"So, let me get this straight. You're a wizard. A _born _wizard. You didn't have to make any deals or anything for your powers? And you actually use a wand to cast spells?"

Harry nodded and finally deemed it safe to continue eating. He noticed Dean twitch as he reached for his food carton but soundly ignored it in favor of stuffing his face, far too hungry to let a little awkwardness and serious conversation get in the way.

"_Yeth, thaths wright." _

He was privately amused when Sam grimaced and looked away as he spoke with his mouth full. Though he had the manners to ensure his food did not get sprayed across the table. He swallowed and politely dabbed his mouth with the collar of his shirt, lips twitching as Sam fidgeted and looked like he wanted to say something more.

"Look, I am completely serious about this. Ask any hunter you know about me, they'll tell you much the same.... Well, minus the specific details and knowledge. I have never harmed a living human being with my powers that did not first do something that warranted such. Witches making deals with demons, demonic hosts, rogue werewolves. But _never _innocent civilians."

Despite his now laid back appearance, he knew some of his desperation showed, much to his mortification. Perhaps it was the earnest truth and pleading buried under his even tone that convinced Dean, if even just a little. He blinked in surprise and stared when the elder Winchester sat down on the bed and leaned back to snag the phone from the floor. He glanced away and adjusted his weight in the chair uncomfortably at the view.

Once more, Dean punched in a number, though less forceful than before. Luckily he seemed to be losing some of his steam, though none of his suspicion. After a long moment someone obviously picked up on the other end.

"Hey, Ellen.... Yeah, listen, sorry we haven't called in a while. How's Joe? Good, good.... What can you tell me about a hunter named Harry? … Yeah, hold on."

He pulled the phone away from his ear and speared Harry with a look. "What's your last name?"

Fidgeting in place, Harry glanced away but answered grudgingly. There was little chance that any muggle hunter would know of _the _Harry Potter. Even just Bobby knowing what little he did was a very small fluke.

"Potter."

"His name is Harry_ Potter. _What can you tell me?"

There was a very long pause, in which Harry could barely make out the muted buzzing of Ellen's voice through the speaker. Unlike Bobby, Harry knew that Ellen would at least explain things calmly before berating the other hunter. Or him, he thought with a wince as Dean strode over and thrust the phone at him. Eying it with trepidation, he gingerly brought it to his ear.

"Yes, Ellen?"

"_You really stepped in it this time, didn't you sweetie? Listen, I told Dean just exactly what I've told all the others who ask about you. You're a good kid, best damn hunter I've ever met, and you've never given me or anyone else reason to think you're not what you are. If those Winchester boys give you any trouble, tell 'em to take it up with me. And come around some time, it's been a while, and don't think I don't know that you know exactly were Joe and I are at now days."_

A wash of relief encompassed him, and he relaxed fully into his chair. Taking in Dean's slightly cowed expression, Harry mentally thanked god for Ellen. The woman really was something else. Coughing quietly, Harry nodded to himself, "Alright, thank you. And don't worry, I'll come visit as soon as I can. Some pretty strange things are going on that needs my -_our_- attention right now."

"_I know. Just get over here when you can. Maybe you can talk some sense into Joe. She still has it in her head to take up huntin' ain't sure what I can do to stop her." _

The woman's tired sigh said everything. Frowning in sympathy, Harry quietly commented, "You won't like to hear this, but... she is a grown woman now. There isn't much that can be done if she still has her heart set on following her Dad. But maybe I can at least talk to her. If she can't be budged, I can at least convince her to not hunt solo. I know of several female hunters who wouldn't mind teaching her."

"_I'd really appreciate it, sweetie. Now, put Dean back on, I have a few words to say to him." _

Attempting to hide a grin at her tone, Harry handed the phone back over and watched with glee as the hunter winced at what ever berating he was receiving. Harry knew the woman well enough to know her methods. A cat playing with a mouse came to mind. The amusing mental image was shattered when Sam cleared his throat to get his attention, looking serious as Dean finally hung up the phone.

"I, _we_, believe you, alright. But that doesn't mean we trust you. But, one thing at a time. We need to figure out your visions and why they're connected to Dean before we do anything else."

For a brief moment Harry considered mentioning his strange dream from earlier, before steadfastly deciding against it. With a shrug he finished off his food, looking thoughtful. He tilted his head at Sam and stared for a moment.

"Honestly? I believe it may simply be coincidental.... You recall my mention of receiving visions during the war.... Perhaps... it is possible that my headmaster was wrong, in his assumption of what was causing them back then...."

Dean stalked over and sat down on the edge of the bed closest to the two, looking confused. "So, what? You think you're a psychic or something? How is it that these powers or what ever are zooming in on specific people though?"

Shaking his head, Harry answered honestly. "What you call 'psychics' we of the magical variety call 'Seers'. They are rare cases of magical humans being able to predict the future. Some of them can control it, to a degree. Others have no control over what they see, or when. It is entirely possible that in some, these visions are triggered by large and potentially life-altering events unfolding in the world."

Dean nodded slowly, "Voldemort was big?"

Shooting the older man a condescending look, Harry scoffed. "Voldemort was _huge_. Had I nod stopped him, he would have completely wiped out or enslaved all non-magical humans on the planet. The fact that _I _was a key figure in it, and that Voldemort and I were tied together, may have been pure chance. Rare, but such things do happen.

"This... situation..." He motioned towards the two brothers. "Is likewise shaping up to be equally huge, and equally as devastating. The mere fact that a Devil's Gate was opened at all has seen to that. Many, many nasty demons and spirits were released; and I doubt anyone knows their true plans and goals."

A crease formed between Sam's eyes at that and he glanced away. Both Dean and Harry caught his guilty look, but neither called him on it yet. The older hunter looked even more thoughtful at Harry's words. He sat up a bit straighter and eyed the wizard seriously.

"What makes you think they have a plan?"

"Because, yellow-eyes went through a hell of a lot of trouble just to cause a little chaos. The fact that his end-goal included opening a gate to Hell is also highly suspicious. While the underling demons may be in it for pure chaos.... The few more powerful ones I have dealt with seemed... far too cocky. It was as if they were all in on some huge joke, with us at the butt of it. Few would tell me anything; but a couple hinted at more powerful demons pulling the strings. Lilith came up a couple of times."

Nodding slowly, Dean scrubbed a hand over his eyes, looking far too weary for his 29 years. Harry could more than sympathize with the older hunter. Things were heating up, with the two Winchesters caught in the cross-fire. Unwittingly, a line from his dream came to mind. _'You must break Dean's contract. Use any means at your disposal.' _

Suddenly wishing for a bottle of whiskey, Harry could have cried. When it came to lucid dreams, he was more than highly aware of the implications. He had been visited by an angel... an angel who urgently wanted Dean's deal broken. What use at all could Harry be in such an endeavor? He could barely help himself some days, let alone save a fellow hunter from a demon deal.

Busy wallowing in his own self deprecating thoughts, Harry nearly missed it when Sam stood suddenly and began packing his and Dean's things. Receiving twin raised eyebrows, the large man shrugged and looked uncomfortable as he stuffed dirty clothes into a duffel.

"We should get going, Dean. We probably should have left last night; someone might connect us to the bodies at the phone company."

Sighing again, Dean nodded before shooting Harry a look. "You, keep your nose clean. I don't wanna have Bobby _and _Ellen breathing down my neck because you did something stupid."

Giving the Winchester a smile that was more a grimace, Harry nodded in turn. "You as well."

Looking uncertain, Dean shrugged and busied himself with hauling the bags out to the car. Watching after him carefully, Harry stood from the table and warily approached Sam. There was something that needed saying, before they parted ways again. Observing Sam as he had been, Harry could only conclude that the younger Winchester was rather like Harry was when he was younger. Always taking deaths personally to heart, always blaming things on himself, despite whether or not they were his fault.

Keeping his voice low, Harry spoke before the confused man could say anything. "What ever it is that is bothering you; don't let it eat away at you. Your death, Dean's deal, none of it is your fault. No one could have predicted what would happen that night, neither could you control your brother's actions from beyond the grave. I promise that I will try to find a way to break the deal, however, you need to promise me that you won't do anything rash that may or may not make the situation worse."

Sam's expression closed off immediately at those words. Staring him down sternly, Harry was only partly satisfied when finally, the man nodded. "Fine... I promise. Just...." He looked a bit pained as he pleaded, "Find a way to break the deal."

Frowning in sympathy, Harry patted the man's shoulder as he likewise busied himself with gathering his bags together. Dean paused upon re-entering the room, easily picking up on the strained silence. To his credit, he made no comment. After a moment Harry sighed and eyed him, catching both the brothers' attention.

Swallowing a bit and attempting to ignore the crawling sensation and nausea caused by a sudden onset of nerves, Harry fidgeted. There was little that could be discovered about the demons, or the deal, by pure muggle intelligence. Having already exhausted all the known American wizardry colonies, there was only one choice that he could think of. The very act of consciously acknowledging his lack of option nearly made him physically ill.

When he spoke, his voice betrayed none of his inner turmoil. "I will be 'falling off the radar' for a little while.... I have contacts which I need to consult about our demon problems. I'm certain that if you run into any problems, Bobby or Ellen can help you a touch better than I could. Or, if you need me, I'm leaving contact information with Bobby. However, it is only to be used in dire emergencies.... My contacts may not be cooperative with me, and will require my full attention."

Both looked highly curious, however he was eternally grateful when neither pressed him for details. He simply hoped that both would eventually come to realize and appreciate the danger he was about to put himself in for them. When he made a promise, he kept it. No matter the odds against him. With stilted words of parting, Harry exited the motel room and prepared for one long drive to Bobby's.

He would be leaving his car and important possessions with the older man, among them, a small mirror fragment secured within a gold locket. The other fragment from the mirror would be kept on Harry's person. Using the broken thing after so long was painful, but at least, the enchanted mirror would come to good use. From Bobby's he would need to borrow one of the man's working scrap cars and pay a visit to the Goblins in Salem before hopping a muggle plane to England.

He only hoped that Wizarding security did not extend to muggle travel hubs.

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Note: Short filler chapter. I think the next one should be out considerably sooner than this one. I've discovered that I'm not the best at writing pure dialog interaction scenes.


	8. Don't Look Back

~Chapter 8~

Nerves ate away at Harry for his entire journey, even to the point of being sick on the plane. Being short and charming had its advantages while sick, despite his misery he was able to charm a flight attendant into giving him an open first class seat. By the time the flying tin can landed at London International the full weight of his undertaking had firmly taken hold. Cursing himself to hell and back for this rash decision did nothing to alleviate the ill feeling that encompassed him as he dodged through the mass of people in the terminal and boarded a bus bound for the center of the city.

A morbid type of deja vu played through his mind as he watched landmarks pass him by. He could remember flying over that cathedral while trying to save Sirius from the Department of Mysteries. And that river had been prominent below his feet during his and the Order's mad dash to escape Death Eaters the summer before his sixth year. The weight of years of suppressed memories flooded unhindered through his mind as the city worked its magic, conjuring unwanted images to mind of his past deeds.

Growling under his breath, Harry signaled for the bus to pull to a halt a block away from the Leaky Cauldron. After so many years he almost didn't remember which intersection it stood at, but the rout was ingrained into his mind. Jumping down the steps, he paused to glance at his reflection in a storefront window.

Shaggy black hair framed his face, concealing his features as much as it enhanced. His green eyes had dulled a touch over the years, while still vibrant, they spoke of experience and world weariness. The fabled scar on his forehead had likewise faded; unless a person were specifically searching for a glimpse of it, no one would see anything but normal age wrinkles beneath his hair. Stubble lined his jaw, making him seem older.

Satisfied, he turned and marched up the street to the pub. No one would recognize him in his current state, save perhaps his old friends. Not bothering to look around the pub, the hunter made his way quickly through to the alley, opening it with a sense of urgency. The less time he spent in public areas, the better. His confidence in remaining unrecognized only extended so far.

Once inside Diagon Alley, Harry mentally tallied his options. First, he stopped by a news stand and purchased a copy of the Daily Prophet. Perusing the pages, he paused at a couple mentions of Ron, but otherwise spotted nothing of interest. What frustrated him the most, was his lack of knowledge of what had been happening in this world since his departure. The thought crossed his mind to contact Ginny, but he quickly dismissed it.

Not only was he unsure of her stance regarding him, he wasn't sure his heart could stand seeing her. Heaven forbid he should see his children. For the most part he had resigned himself to his exile, and the years away had done much in culling any strong desire to patch things up. That did not stop the stirring of curiosity as to how his children had turned out. The situation was far too dangerous for him to risk approaching them, even in secrecy.

Now that he found himself in the wizarding world once more, doubt tugged at his mind. He had no clue where to even begin. He had no known allies, and he would also not risk contacting Hermione. His options were disturbingly thin. His was a mission to gather intelligence, logically he should find a library and begin researching. Despite his love of magic however, the only large stockpile of knowledge he knew of was the library of Hogwarts, and likely within the Ministry.

Slowly his movements ground to a halt as his brain slowly processed a figure walking ahead of him. The stark blonde-white hair tugged at his memory, further enhanced by the arrogant swagger to the man's steps. Forehead creasing, a spur of the moment plan formulated. Quickly lengthening his strides to catch up to the man, Harry coughed obnoxiously loud. Walking so close to the man's back so as to nearly touch, a grin tugged at the hunter's features.

The Malfoys were a rather difficult lot to mistake, even after all these years. Whether it be Lucius or Draco he was currently stalking and harassing mattered little to Harry. While not exactly fond of each other, after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and the Malfoy family had come to a respectful understanding. He just prayed they still recognized the life debt owed to him by Draco.

He coughed again. This time he could see the slight cringe to the man's frame as he realized his follower was still in fact there. The man stopped abruptly, causing Harry's grin to widen as he accidentally bumped into him from behind. The Malfoy stepped forward and turned around, sneer in place and sharp words on the tip of his tongue.

Lucius pulled up short, however, as he had to glance down to properly see the miscreant, his assailant being a full foot shorter than the patriarch. While expecting to see some _common _rabble, he actually stammered a touch as his keen gaze picked out the young man's features. Green eyes, black hair, self satisfied grin, and far too short for his obvious years. Glancing around sharply, the Malfoy grabbed Harry's collar and hauled him into a side alley.

The hunter didn't protest, though he was shocked that Lucius recognized him so readily. He would have thought the Malfoys would have gladly forgotten him. Apparently he had thought wrong. Lucius shoved him against the side of a building, still glancing around to ensure the strange behavior had not been observed. Once satisfied, he pushed his face close to Harry's squinting slightly as he scrutinized the young man. His voice came out in a hiss that would have done a snake proud.

"What do you think you are doing, Potter."

Despite the obvious rhetorical nature of the question, Harry was compelled to answer. He kept his voice to a low murmur, conscious of the bustle of the Alley feet away. "I need your help, Malfoy. A situation has cropped up which I am ill equipped to deal with. What do you know of demons?"

Lucius' eyes grew dangerously narrow for a moment, and Harry was nearly afraid he would get hexed. However after a moment of silence the patriarch finally heaved a sigh, shaking his head. Whispering nearly too low for even Harry to hear, the hunter was surprised.

"Not here. Come to your godfather's old home, I'm sure you remember where it is. Andromeda gave it to the Malfoys after you disappeared. I shall send word to Draco that you are on your way."

Lucius gave Harry no room for protest, as he stepped back and drew his wand. The hunter watched with vague interest as with a muttered spell, a silvery patronus shot from the blonde's wand and spirited out of the alley, obviously on its way to Grimmauld Place. Just as abruptly, the elder Malfoy stormed away, leaving Harry slightly stunned and confused.

Sighing quietly to himself, he stepped from the wall and stepped oddly, disappearing with a quiet 'pop'. He stumbled slightly and paused to catch his bearings as he reappeared in another alleyway on the other side of the city. He remembered this spot well despite the years away, he was just thankful it was still in existence. Grimmauld Place was still dark and dreary, just as he remembered. And just as in years past, stepping from the mouth of the small lane, he caught his first glimpse of Number Twelve.

While the town home still had an aura of foreboding about it, Harry assumed it was simply his imagination playing tricks, as the run-down building was no longer in a state of disrepair on the outside, and actually looked quite inviting. Placing a disillusionment charm over himself, the hunter hesitantly approached the front stoop. While he respected the Malfoys, he was not entirely trusting of them. What if this was a trap? Certainly he knew that no one had knowledge of his return, however he knew the Slytherins were resourceful and cunning enough to attempt something at a moments notice.

The mental debate abruptly staggered to a halt as the door opened. Narcissa peered out, blue eyes landing on him without issue. Of course, he should have known they would have some sort of magical detection to tell them if they had intruders on their property. Her eyes lit with recognition, just as Lucius' had, and with a slight smile she waved him in. Sardonically Harry had to wonder if his features really were as plain as he assumed.

Cautiously entering his godfather's old home, he was pleasantly surprised. While the décor still held dark themes, the place was nearly unrecognizable from the filthy, dingy, evil tinged prison of so many years ago. To his eternal shock, once the door closed, he found himself pulled into a strong embrace. The blonde woman may be a trophy wife but no one could ever accuse her of being weak.

Just as abruptly as it came, the hug ended. Stepping back, Narcissa composed herself and returned his confused look with a tight smile.

"Believe it or not, Potter, your presence was missed among this family. If only because of the political asylum you offered us. Come, I'll have the house elves make you some tea. Draco is waiting in the sitting room."

Harry didn't know what he expected as he followed Mrs. Malfoy into the sitting room. The place was brighter than he expected, from what he'd seen of other rooms as he passed. A couch and several chairs littered the room, along with toys suitable for a small child. Draco was the most interesting thing in the room, however.

The pureblood had changed a lot since their school days. His hair had grown out, like his father's, and he kept it neatly tied at the nape of his neck. A neatly trimmed beard framed his mouth, and his gray eyes, while still cold, held an odd warmth as he glanced up from the child sitting on his knee to stare at Harry. The old rivals would have continued simply staring, had the child not broken their attention.

Harry could not stop a slight smile from gracing his lips at the sight Draco made as he attempted to sooth the cranky little boy. Said boy was obviously Draco's, from the downy blonde hair and icy blue eyes. It tugged at his heart even as it warmed him. He wondered what Albus, James, and Teddy looked like now.

Catching his look, Draco made a face at him, motioning for the hunter to sit. A second later, a platter of tea and scones appeared on the low coffee table in front of the couch. Narcissa bustled in, divesting Draco of the child, and seeming quite comfortable to seat herself in a near by chair, ignoring her son's put out look as the little Malfoy immediately quieted his fussing. No longer distracted by his son, Draco turned his full attention on the guest, nearly glaring a bit as he scrutinized Harry's appearance.

"Do they not have baths in America, Potter? Or trimmers for that matter."

Raising an eyebrow, Harry grinned easily, heart aching a bit at the long missed familiarity of the barb. "Oh, they do. I simply refrained from using them with the knowledge of seeing you in mind."

Draco scoffed quietly before growing serious. "What are you doing here, Potter? They still have a bounty on you. While you're safe in the States, here you're a walking target."

"I need information."

"I know. Father said you'd mentioned demons. What have you gotten yourself into?"

Heaving a sigh, Harry rolled his eyes. Not that he couldn't understand why they would think _he _were the one in trouble. For once, he seemed to surprise them.

"Not me. A couple... friends in America. I'll spare you the details, but I'm sure you know how lax the American wizarding government is on documenting certain things."

Nodding slowly, Draco signaled to his mother. Narcissa nodded slightly before standing, carrying the child with her out of the room. Harry could understand their reluctance to talk of such things while in the presence of a toddler. They waited in silence as the door closed behind the woman. It was Draco's turn to sigh.

"Look, Harry, you have my family's undying gratitude for doing what you did during the war... But if word gets out that you are here, with us, the Ministry would not hesitate to throw us all in Azkaban. They have been itching to find dirt on us ever since you went on the run. All of your testimonies were considered suspect... Frankly it's a miracle they couldn't find much against us that they didn't already know."

"And I understand that. Meeting your father in Diagon Alley was pure chance; I honestly didn't know what I would do once I got here until I spotted him." Letting out a shaky breath, Harry more than knew the position he may have inadvertently placed this family in with his presence.

"Look... all I need to know is whether or not Professor McGonagall is still Headmistress, and whether or not she would be willing to speak with me, without hexing me or calling the Aurors down on my head. Then I can leave you in peace."

Glancing towards the fireplace on one wall of the room, Draco shrugged. "I know she wasn't happy with Weasley after he declaired you a fugitive. She actually barred him from stepping foot on Hogwarts ground without an official Ministry warrant. The former Ms. Granger has to see to anything to do with their kids' schooling. Even after nearly a decade she hasn't budged. I could feel her out for you, see what her opinion is and whether she'd hand you over... You're thinking the Hogwarts library may have answers for you?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally. "Honestly, I know it's probably a dead end, but I'm running out of options... Time's almost up."

Getting slowly to his feet, Draco paced around a bit, hands clasped behind his back. He paused a moment before striding over to the fireplace and snatching up a handful of floo powder. Harry watched curiously, not particularly worried, as the Malfoy knelt on the hearth and called out the Headmistress' floo address. He listened with perked interest to the one-sided conversation taking place. Draco truly was a master of deception, as he artfully made small talk with the woman, slowly and carefully steering the conversation to reminisce about the past. It took only a few minutes before Harry heard his own name mentioned.

"Potter really was something, annoying as he was."

Despite only being able to hear one side of the conversation, Harry was quite sure he could imagine the Professor's response. A slight, sad smile lit his eyes. He would not trade his life in America for anything, but being back in Britain was almost surreal. He tuned out the conversation for now, lost in memory and wistful musings. He only turned his attention back to Draco when the man started snickering.

"Well, that's rather convenient, Minerva. He's currently sitting in my living room."

Before the hunter could even process what was happening, he was being urged into the fireplace, a handful of the powder shoved into his hand. Draco had a knowing smirk as he motioned impatiently to the man. Swallowing a sudden nervous lump in his throat, Harry shakily called out the Hogwarts floo address, clenching his eyes tightly shut as the nauseating sensation of floo travel overtook him.

For a moment upon tumbling out of the fireplace, he was quite certain he was going to be sick. The one thing he never missed about the wizarding world were their travel methods. It took him only a heartbeat to orient himself and wrench his eyes open, hand instinctively inching closer to his concealed wand, as he heard someone gasp at his presence.

Minerva hadn't changed much, beyond some gray hair streaking her severe black bun. Her glasses perched on her nose, eyes wide with disbelieving shock as she eyed him. There was no recognition until she caught sight of his eyes. A quiet sob escaped the normally stoic woman, shocking Harry to his core as she strode over and swept him up in a bone crushing hug. Awkwardly, he patted her back and shifted a bit, trying to escape the emotional woman.

Thankfully she let him go on her own after a moment longer, stepping back and swiping at her cheeks with a handkerchief. They stared at each other for a moment before she suddenly seemed to snap out of her fit. Drawing herself up straight, she glared severely at the man, who found himself reduced to a fit of nerves such as in his school days.

Despite her emotions, Minerva's voice was steady. "Eight years, Mister Potter. You don't write, you don't floo... We all thought you must have been captured or killed... But never mind that. Draco has informed me of why you have returned. I can honestly say that you have my full cooperation. Simply see to it that you remain out of sight. I have already had the house elves prepare you a room near the library, and you will be granted full access to the Restricted Section."

Harry felt a wave of relief crash into him. Over emotional greeting aside, he was put at ease with her familiar no-nonsense way of dealing with things. He knew that there were bound to be some tough questions asked once the shock of his presence wore off, but for now, he was simply happy things were going well for now. Quite frankly his head was spinning from the dizzying turn of events. He was expecting things to go wrong from the start, but the cards seemed to be falling into place with ease.

He only wondered who else was counting the cards.

_0o0o0o0_

Several days later, and Harry knew for certain that the gods must be laughing at him. While things had remained rather quiet, almost peaceful, during his stay at the school, he soon discovered why. As it turned out, the Hogwarts library contained very little information about demons, and even less about making deals with one. The only useful thing he had found was a book on magical contracts, which only vaguely dealt with demonic deals in that Unbreakable Vows sounded disconcertingly similar. And of course- Unbreakable Vows were called such for a reason.

The weight of time seemed to crush Harry with every passing day. He had promised Sam that he would try, and by god he was. It didn't seem to be enough though. After a time, he veritably _lived _in the library, searching the stacks manically for any tiny mention of demonic activity. He would have forgone eating or resting entirely were it not for Minerva and the portraits of both Dumbledore and Snape hassling him at every turn.

Before he knew it, April had arrived, bringing with it a heavy, dreary atmosphere. Depression took firm hold as he still had not uncovered anything useful to help save Dean. While the feeling was by no means new to him, it still stung like a bludger to the head, the sense of failure as he packed his possessions and exited his rooms at Hogwarts. It was time to return to the States.

Bobby had contacted him a couple nights ago, letting him know how the brothers were doing. Harry knew quite well, seeing as how his visions had not ceased with distance. He knew that Sam had broken his promise to Harry. The Winchesters' encounter with the Frankenstein wanna-be doctor grated on Harry like sand in a fresh wound. He knew exactly what Sam was going through, but he still felt a sense of horror and disbelief that the younger man would stoop to such a low level in an effort to save his brother.

He had not spoken to the Winchesters directly, but they could bet he would have a lot of things to say to them when he got back.

.

.

.

* * *

**Note**: Hope you enjoy. Before anyone reviews, wanting to know why there aren't many interactions, or much information given about the wizarding world: This story is set firmly in the Supernatural universe, with the Winchesters being major characters along with Harry. Therefor, I don't want the enormous world of Harry Potter blotting out the main plot. And quite frankly, this is another filler chapter to get things moving along plot-wise. I don't like how things have been crawling along, so I needed something that was pertinent, but in-story time consuming to move things along. Next chapter begins the Supernatural Season 3 Finale.


	9. Ring of Fire

~^Chapter 9~^

Stepping foot on American soil was a warm breath of fresh air for Harry. However it was not enough to break the dark cloud that had encompassed his mood. The sense of failure had long been ingrained; first by the Dursleys, and later at Hogwarts, when he was unable to clear Sirius of charges, and onward. He thought that he had become desensitized to such, until his exile, where the cycle had apparently repeated. Now, driving towards Bobby's place Harry could not help but feel a strange sense of mixed foreboding and hope. While he had not found anything during his weeks in England, perhaps the Winchesters had.

Momentarily taking his eyes from the open road, Harry reached over to turn the music up, losing himself in the steady rumble of the motor, the screech of electric guitar and growling vocals. Humming along, he slowed as he caught sight of a stop sign up ahead. Strange place to put one, considering it was the middle of no-where Nebraska. Though it was the dead of night, and his was the only car he had seen for miles, he decided to follow the traffic laws for once. One never knew what they would encounter driving in a state park after all.

A strange sensation washed over him as he neared the sign, like fire and ice searing his skin. Senses snapped into overdrive as he slammed on the brakes, paying no mind to the violent jolt as the vehicle halted. Keen eyes searched the surrounding forest, looking for an answer to the feeling, but nothing seemed to stand out. Slowly, he pulled the car to the side of the road and placed it in park, before cautiously exiting, hand straying to his wand and a pistol holstered at the small of his back.

Such a sensation was not common place, nor was Harry familiar with a possible cause for such. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end; even below his music he couldn't pick up any noises from the forest, not even insects. Turning a slow circle, he squinted a bit as he thought he spied a pair of reflective eyes in the darkness. Unholstering the gun, he slowly inched forward, hyper aware that he was leaving his back exposed as he stepped under the foliage.

A twig snapped somewhere in the distance, causing him to freeze in his tracks. Abruptly, a single cricket began chirping, followed by other sounds of the night in tandem. It was nearly deafening after the silence, but caused Harry to nearly breathe a sigh of relief. But not quite. He was nearly expecting it, when he turned to find someone leaning against the hood of his car.

The tan overcoat and short, tousled brown hair painted a vaguely familiar picture. Even after so long, the dream still stood out vividly and remained with him. The man eyed him a bit curiously, face set in a serious frown, not seeming to note the gun now pointed unwaveringly at his forehead. The veteran had to call upon every reserve of willpower he had not to visibly startle, save a brief twitch. They stared each other down for several seconds before the man spoke.

"It is... good to see you again, Harry Potter."

"Depends on your view point. What are you doing here? Tired of haunting my dreams?"

A look of confusion passed over Castiel's face before he glanced away, almost self consciously. Harry slowly lowered the gun, but did not relax his grip on it as he eyed the self proclaimed 'angel'. His presence in the waking world caused the wizard's skin to crawl, though not unpleasantly. That in itself made Harry question the other man. Gritting his teeth, he repeated, "What are you doing here?"

"I fear that the cause of my presence to you was not made sufficiently clear the last time... You _must _break Dean's contract. Your lack of conviction has caused wasted time."

"Lack of conviction...?"

Not seeming to sense the danger, the angel nodded. Harry felt deceptively calm as he took a step towards the other man, eyes flashing oddly in the headlights. His voice was quiet and even as he responded.

"Perhaps I would not have a 'lack of conviction' as you call it, if you would give me more information beyond the obvious... I'm one human, with limited contacts and resources. If you want the damn contract broken, do it your god damn self. You're the angel. Unless you can't, for some reason... In which case, if I were you I would cease insulting your unhired help, and give me something more to bloody well go on."

The expression on Castiel's face did not seem to change, though Harry was almost positive his eye twitched a little. They were mere inches from each other now, the wizard not caring of the danger in lieu of the situation. He was pissed, to put it plainly. It felt as if his blood were going to boil straight out of his skin. Celestial being aside, this man had absolutely zero right to comment.

Castiel shoved his face close to Harry's, and the hunter fought not to snarl. Unlike Harry, the angel had no issue with showing his anger, eyes flashing with energy as he growled. Had scarier things than angels not already challenged Harry, the man would have been disconcerted at the show. As it was, the words only fanned the rage coiling in the wizard's chest.

"What more do you want? You are to break the contract, and you have three days to do so. If I could do it myself do you think I would employ a broken shell of a human for such a delicate task. _Do as you are told._"

Harry felt as if he'd just been slapped. Blinking rapidly, he blindly brought the gun back up, fully intending to shoot. Castiel was gone. Seething anger and nearly suffocating sorrow clouded his thoughts as he glanced around sharply, searching in vain for a glimpse of the damned angel. Harry could take such insults to his character and demands from demons, and even other humans... but an angel? The hunter already knew he was a broken waste of space, the fact that a supposed angel thought such as well was nearly too much.

Kicking violently at the ground, Harry stormed around the car and yanked the door open, still glaring and panting slightly as he fought to control himself. Bobby better have something to tell him about this 'Castiel' fellow.

O0o0o0o0

Castiel watched from the foliage at the human's outburst, wincing and glancing at the ground in shame as the screech of tires slowly faded into the night. His heart ached oddly, despite his anger not being feigned. He had seen just how much his words pained his old ward. But now was not the time for being delicate. Dean had three days left. Three days to break the contract, or three days before his soul was dragged to Hell. Such a victory could not be afforded the forces of Lucifer, and currently Harry was the only human he had witness with such power to potentially alter Destiny.

Preparations needed to be made in the eventuality that Harry failed, However Michael had ceased communicating directly with Castiel, making it impossible for the angel to receive sure orders outside of Zachariah. The full scale of what would potentially come to be was staggering even to the angel. Forcing doubt from his mind, he spirited away as the nagging voice of his superior scorched into his mind. Preparations needed to be seen to.

O0o0o0o0

Sam jerked awake as the sound of a car door slamming carried into the house. Bobby and Dean were already up and alert, glancing cautiously out the window. Tension drained out of their frames at whatever they saw. Shoving a book from his lap, Sam stood and slumped his way to have a look as well.

The three had been researching almost non-stop since Ruby's last visit, trying to find a way to kill Lilith without it being a suicide mission. The sight of Harry stomping up the front porch was both a relief and slightly worrying, by the foreboding look on his face. The older hunter looked a right mess, hair unkempt, stubble growing in thick on his face, and deep circles under his eyes. If Sam didn't know any better, he'd have sworn Harry was a wraith.

They all grouped to meet him at the front door, Bobby pointedly not inviting the wizard in, beyond waving him across the line of salt on the threshold. There was a moment of tense silence as the green eyed man glanced at the three of them, his eyes glinting dangerously when his gaze landed on Sam. The younger Winchester barely repressed an instinctive flinch. That look was eerily close to one their father usually gave him when he'd just done something stupid and potentially deadly.

The uncomfortable atmosphere was broken as the man let his bag fall from his shoulder, his gaze on Dean now. He looked a bit heartbroken to Sam, which was odd, but not overly so considering his first words.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

His brother looked startled, and Sam could understand why. This stranger, whom they barely knew, looked defeated and sincerely apologetic over a problem which by all rights was not even his own. Sam felt a surge of guilt at having coerced Harry into the Winchesters' mess even further than he was already.

Letting out a small cough, Dean shook his head, awkwardly patting Harry on the back as they slowly moved to the living room.

"'S fine. This isn't your problem to begin with, so don't worry about it. We figured some things out while you were gone. I'll let Sammy tell you so me and him both don't drop dead by default."

His brother stalked from the room, leaving Bobby and Sam alone with Harry. Sam cleared his throat and shifted his frame from foot to foot, not meeting Harry's gaze as he quietly explained,

"We, um... We figured out who holds Dean's contract. Lilith. In theory..."

"You gank her and the deal breaks. I doubt it's that simple."

Half shrugging, Sam flopped to the couch and hunched his shoulders. Bobby scoffed a bit as he likewise took a seat, offering Harry a beer that Dean had left unopened. The gruff hunter shook his head at it, causing Bobby to look mildly concerned.

"Kid, did'ja find anything useful over the pond? 'Cause we sure could use a game plan before these two go flouncing off all willy nilly into a trap."

"No... The only thing similar I could find were Unbreakable Vows... Those are called such for a reason. If one or both parties do not fulfill their clauses in the contract, then the offending party will die. And such contracts can only be terminated if both parties are in agreement to do so."

Sighing, Sam ran his hand through his hair. "Which Lilith would never do. So we're back to plan 'B'."

"Which is no plan at all." Bobby glared sharply at Sam, who looked put out. On his part, Harry simply shook his head tiredly, rubbing fiercely at his eyes, shoulders hung in defeat. They could barely understand him over the rough burr in his voice.

"That plan is better than no plan... Dean dies either way if we do nothing at all. Do ya know where she's held up?"

It was Bobby's turn to sigh, as he leaned over and pushed a stack of papers and maps towards Harry. "So far as we can tell, she's here alright." He tapped his finger on the topmost map, where a large red circle had been drawn around a small suburb in New Harmony, Indiana.

"Resorted to a bit of scrying, but there are omens to back it up. Electrical storms, abnormal weather patterns, cattle mutilations, and so on. We'd need to do a bit of reconnaissance, but I'm almost positive."

Nodding slowly, Harry picked through the papers. Some were police reports, others were public record from news stations. Looking thoughtful, he sat back and stared at the fireplace. The wheels in his mind turned as his gaze unconsciously slipped to the innocent looking ring on his finger. He played with it absently, turning it on his finger. Sam and Bobby wisely left him to his thoughts, whispering quietly to each other as they attempted to revise the fine points of their plan. Harry paid no attention.

Lilith was a demon... and he could kill demons with the Hallows. From the brothers' recounts of the past encounters with this demon however, the wizard knew it was a long shot. Such a powerful demon may be immune to the ring's effects, or if she was not, there was the issue of Harry getting close enough to use it. The hunter knew he was powerful in his own right, but would it be enough?

Honestly he did not know why he was suddenly so dedicated to Dean's cause. Even before he had made the promise to Sam, and had encountered Castiel, he had been willing to help them. Considering it for a long second, Harry examined his feelings.

The two were great hunters, who had lived a long, hard life. Such a thing was something the wizard could more than sympathize with, but that wasn't it. Harry had known John far better than he had let on to them. Quite frankly, John had taught him nearly as much, if not moreso, than Bobby. The man was brilliant, cocky in a way that reminded Harry of Sirius, but down to earth despite his thirst for vengeance. John had been human, and had readily admitted such faults, but it never seemed to stop him.

They had hunted together on more occasions than Harry could truly recall. Even travelled together, though at John's protests. After a while, Harry had begun seeing him as a type of mentor, in addition to being friends. It had nearly killed him to find out of John's death from Bobby. Obligation, Harry mentally nodded. He owed it to John to see to it that his sons remained alive with souls intact.

Clearing his throat, vague amusement fluttered through him as Sam and Bobby startled. Standing and nodding pointedly at Bobby, Harry made his way out onto the front porch, slumping against the railing. He gazed around and sighed sadly. The place felt nearly like home, but less so since Rumsfeld had been killed by that demon bitch. He glanced up as the front door rattled closed, Bobby watching him carefully as he joined him.

"Don't look as if I might suddenly turn rabid, Bobby."

Unable to even force amusement, Harry listlessly stared into the night. Bobby snorted but waited patiently for him to continue, knowing his friend well enough by now not to rush him. The wizard was grateful. Organizing his thoughts was rather difficult, as he rifled through all the things that had happened over the past weeks. Most pressing however...

"What do you know of angels? Heavenly being types. If demons exist, is it possible...?"

A look of utter bafflement crossed Bobby's face for a moment. It would have been amusing had the question not been asked in all seriousness. Harry could understand his disbelief. Religion was not something Harry generally acknowledged or accepted, and it was rare that he ever asked about such things, outside of personal encounters with supposed fictitious beings.

"It is possible, yeah... But nothing's ever been recorded outside of the Bible and nut-job psychos. Why? Ya seen something you wanna tell me about?"

Hesitating a moment, Harry shook his head. Knowing Bobby wouldn't take it as a valid answer, he spoke up.

"No. Simply curious. All this Lilith business does get one's mind working. I think I'm going to turn in for the night."

Briefly patting Bobby's shoulder, Harry beat a hasty retreat. For reasons unknown, he was somewhat embarrassed to admit he believed Castiel. Despite all logic to the contrary, something in his gut told him it was the truth. Little would it be the first time his instincts were right, or wrong. What concerned him was which it was in this instance.

Curling up in his usual room upstairs, Harry tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, ears fine tuned to the sounds going on downstairs and outside. Things were mostly quiet after a brief outburst from one of the brothers. He assumed they had all passed out on their books, or were still researching.

Heaving a sigh, he rolled from the bed and slumped quietly towards the stairs, unable to stay inactive for long. If he couldn't sleep, he may as well aid them in searching. Stepping lightly, he was alarmed when he reached the library/living room to discover the place deserted. Peering into the kitchen yielded the same result.

Stalking cautiously towards the front door, he frowned at noting it was unlocked, and cracked open a touch. He almost feared something had happened until he spotted figures standing near the Impala. They appeared to be arguing, if their posturing were anything to go by. Rolling his eyes, he stepped out onto the porch, letting the door close behind him with a loud clatter.

Their startled reactions were satisfying, though less so, as he caught the tail end of their conversation. His gaze flashed dangerously between the three, cowing the brothers, and causing even Bobby to look a bit guilty.

"Planning a little trip without me?"


	10. Man Who Sold the World

Sorting out the three guilty explanations offered him at the accusing glare, Harry could quite easily see for himself what was going on despite any flimsy excuses directed at him. The Winchesters had obviously attempted to take on the mantle of self-less marauders, marching bravely forth to conquer demons and the minions of Hell by themselves. Bobby being the crafty and paranoid hunter that he was, had obviously inferred that such an attempt would be made, and thwarted it. At least temporarily, if the open hood of the Impala and newly installed defibrillator cap were anything to go on. Such was how he happened upon them, as they attempted to leave him in the dirt.

Like hell. Mustering up his best Snape-worthy glare, he saw them flinch slightly. Good, they should be afraid. Mild rage stirred in his gut as he pondered upon their actions. They would have left him behind as a civilian, rather than treating him as a seasoned hunter. Disappointment joined the swirling anger as his gaze landed on Bobby, who knew quite well of his skill. The older hunter folded his hat between nervous fingers and avoided his gaze.

Voice dangerously soft, Harry carefully kept his features blank, as if he were simply chastising unintelligent aurors rather than his friend and acquaintances. "I made Sam a promise. Promises from me are not to be taken so lightly as to blatantly reject my help by leaving behind an ally as you pounce off to get killed by demons."

Dean blinked and glanced sideways at his brother, question and suspicion clear. Harry ignored them and instead stared hard at Bobby. The older man bristled slightly but seemed mollified.

"Damn'it kid, it's not like I wanted to. But this wasn't your fight."

"This became my fight the second I began having visions of those two... Get in the car. Night is burning, and Dean's time is almost up."

Bobby looked like he wanted to argue, but after a moment of quiet consideration, he slowly nodded, gesturing for the Winchesters to take the impala as he made his way over to a scrap comaro. Harry followed, climbing into the passenger seat resolutely, silently calling his packs to appear in the trunk next to Bobby's supplies.

* * *

The world seemed to stand still. No one moved, nor made a sound as Lilith fled, loosing the Hound upon Dean. Neither hunter seemed able to so much as twitch as Dean's cries of agony filled the house. Harry's heart leaped to his throat as he watched the scene in horror, flinching as Sam finally seemed to break whatever spell Lilith had placed upon them. The youngest hunter's cries soon joined Dean's, before one slowly tapered off.

Years had passed since Harry had cried. The last he could recall shedding a single tear was at the funeral for Remus and Tonks. Now however, watching numbly as Sam ran to his brother's side, he was dimly aware of his vision becoming blurry. His skin nearly burned, as the liquid slowly trailed down his cheeks, mingling with blood and dirt.

How had it all gone so horribly wrong?

The trio of hunters waited impatiently for Bobby to rejoin them crouching behind a back yard fence. The plan was less than solid, blessing the water line would only hold the demons back so long once they realized that they had company. Harry silently wondered if they didn't already know, as the street was devoid of any movement now. Everything was for too silent, even for being the dead of night in suburbia.

Dean's deal was rapidly nearing an end, as his soul drew nearer to joining the forces of Hell, he could see demons and their minions just as clear as if they were in the pit already. The knowledge sent Harry's instincts into over drive, as Bobby at last rejoined them, and they split up to search the houses. The resurrection stone nearly burned into his finger as he and Bobby creeped towards the first unlit house. It was as if the hallows sensed something that he could not. By their nature, he suspected they could.

The wizard was nearly expecting it when the first demon jumped them before they could even jimmy he door open. Whirling around quickly at Bobby's strangled grunt, a child held him by the throat. Fear jolted through him as he wondered if this was Lilith, however a flash of black eyes told otherwise. Not giving himself a moment for thought, he punched the small form and kicked it away as he and Bobby scrambled to get their wits about them. Harry's heart nearly broke as the demon grinned at them. It knew that they would never harm a child just to kill a demon.

What it did not count on, was Harry. Dodging forward lightning quick, he caught the demon around the throat and hooked the small body, pulling it hard against him. It struggled valiantly, but the strong grip and small body kept it from getting leverage to use its full strength. Growling an exorcism into its ear, he pressed the ring threateningly upon its forehead. A reaction was almost immediate. Losing a haunting scream, the demon purged itself from the child's body before the exorcism or the stone could do their jobs.

The two hunters exchanged sorrowful looks as the body remained limp. A quick check revealed it to be cool and lifeless. Ferocious rage boiled to the surface as Harry carefully laid the form down on the grass and stood to his full height. Demons were cowards, using children as equally as adults in their endevors. However, they seemed to fear one thing more than any exorcism. The stone. Sparing the corpse one last glance, Harry turned and tapped Bobby on the shoulder before jogging off in the direction the Winchesters had taken.

The older man could take care of himself, as illustrated by his sorrowful, but determined nod at Harry before they parted ways. Shooting a shielding spell at the man's back before he was out of sight, Harry silently prayed they would see each other again at the end of the night.

Finding the Winchesters had been easy, as they left a trail of dead bodies in their wake. Though Harry spared a brief thought on their methods, he honestly approved. Most of these people were likely already dead to begin with under the demons treatment, and the few that weren't were being spared a life time of remembering what was done with their bodies while they had no control. Following the sounds of a scuffle, he happened upon the Winchesters in the living room of a house further down the line.

They were not alone... So this was Lilith. She would already know that Harry was there, but he approached cautiously non the less. She had possessed Ruby's body, it seemed, as the adult body and blond hair was familiar from his dreams. Ignoring whatever words were being exchanged, he focused on the ring upon his finger, feeling the power gather within the stone quickly under the direction of his wrath. He considered how best to go about getting close to her, however the decision was taken from him as a strangling force suddenly encompassed him, squeezing his body in a vice like grip.

Finding himself slammed against a wall, white, pupil-less eyes stared at him with amusement.

"So, this is the great Harry Potter. I thought you would be taller. No need to play dirty, that ring won't do you any good. This dispute is between me, and the Winchesters here... Be a good dog and be quiet, the adults are talking."

Unable to speak, Harry could only watch and glare angrily as events played out. Not even wandless magic would allow the hold on him to waver. Slowly, the power within the stone dissipated. Glaring hatefully at the demon, he bristled, eyes nearly glowing in rage as she turned her face towards him briefly, and winked.

* * *

"Why was Dean Winchester _allowed _to die? I followed my orders. Zachariah gave the word to fall back and not interfere in the fight; and because of your instructions not to openly oppose him I was forced to concede. I attempted to contact you but you did not answer. Now a seal is about to be broken, and a good man is lost to Hell."

Castiel returned the warning glare his superior threw him for his disrespect. Michael was the more tolerant of the Heavenly Host, as tolerant as any angel could be, and did not punish him. Matters were far too grave for soldier and commander to argue. Tilting his head in defeat, Michael paced around, his constructed body showing agitation.

"The issue, Castiel, is that dissent in our ranks must be kept within the garrison. If news reached the demons that you had gone against orders they may have attempted to recruit you to Lucifer's side. Zachariah and his attendants are being kept under close scrutiny from both sides as it is."

"That does not explain the issue of Dean."

Green eyes flashed as the other angel turned his fierce stare full force on Castiel. The soldier barely repressed a flinch. When Michael was not happy at a situation, no one was happy. He dipped his head and lidded his eyes in a minor show of contrition. It seemed to mollify the warrior.

"The matter of the first seal is a difficult one. _When a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. _Both Dean Winchester and... Harry Potter fit the description."

The hesitation did not go unnoticed. "Yet it was Dean who sold his soul to resurrect his brother."

A heavy sigh left Michael. "Yes. Harry Potter is a righteous man by all definition, however he has done things which stain his soul. The demons would have had no problem harvesting his soul to the pits had he died... There are things about Harry Potter which you do not know, Castiel. He is just as important in this war as Sam and Dean Winchester. Had he gone to Hell in Dean's stead all may have been lost."

The response confused Castiel, but this time he held his tongue. Instead he waited as patiently as possible for his next orders. His commander did not keep him waiting long.

"Rally the garrison. Take three battalions. Prepare to storm the gates of Hell."

* * *

Somber silence accompanied the group of three as they carried their burden gingerly through the underbrush. Pine coffin held near reverently between them, they approached the open grave. They paused at the edge, none willing to finalize the great loss which had been dealt them. Bone dry eyes gazed down at the earth, tears of anguish already long shed, leaving them feeling hollow inside.

Harry glanced first at the hole, then at the coffin, and finally, at his companions. They were all worn down and exhausted from grief. Even he was not immune, as though he had known Dean and Sam for only a short time, the older hunter' mannerisms had been endearing, and their company pleasant. He blamed himself far worse than even Sam could wallow in self loathing. Had he not hesitated. Had he been only a touch stronger. He may have been able to save Dean and kill Lilith. He had broken his promise to Sam by allowing Dean to die.

Bobby looked haggard, all of his years seeming to crash down upon him ten-fold as he softly cleared his throat. He didn't sound convinced, but neither of the younger men argued as he directed them to maneuver the coffin and gently lower it. Bobby did not understand Sam's need to forgo cremation. Or perhaps he understood too well, but right now he refused to argue any more.

Even the surrounding forest seemed to mourn, as not even birds or insects could be heard in that one moment in time. Sam refused aid when Harry offered to help him fill in the grave. Harry understood far too well what Sam was going through. Sirius had been like a father and older brother rolled into one towards the end, losing him had nearly killed Harry. The closeness between the two Winchesters however, could never be matched. He knew Sam was not taking the death well and suspected the younger man's plans.

The Winchester family was near notorious for escaping death, or if all else failed, cheating it. However even Harry, with his hope and power, knew that such a thing was impossible now. Demons did not give up their conquests lightly. However, his stare briefly drifted down to the innocent looking stone... there was still hope.

.

.

.

* * *

**Note: **The chapter jumps around a lot, but that's for a reason. It's meant to read dis-jointed.


	11. Man of Constant Sorrow

Unnatural storms gripped the island country in a vice, forcing most modes of transport to grind to a halt in the face of gale winds and sheets of rain. Many of the citizens shook their heads in dismay while staying holed up indoors, murmuring curses at the weatherman. To the opposite, others found it the perfect opportunity to conduct shady operations without the watchful gaze of pedestrians bearing down upon them. Such a one stumbled down a particularly dark lane, heavy cowl obscuring their features, as they made for one townhouse in particular.

Senses tingling with the wards as he approached the door of the foreboding structure, the weary figure slumped as he awaited a response to his rather impatient knock. Exhaustion gripped him like a vice and he could not suppress a shudder at the water and other things soaking through the material of his cloak. Glancing up with a startle as the door finally opened, he was both happy and filled with dread at the sight of Lucius Malfoy. They engaged in a staring contest for a fraction of a second, before the aristocrat finally sneered, stepping aside to allow him entry.

Grimmauld Place had not changed since the last time he had visited, although some toys had migrated into the front hall. By the scent and sounds coming from the direction of the dining room, he had undoubtedly interrupted a meal. While guilty at such, he could not find it within himself to care, as he divested himself of the heavy cloak and leather jacket. Lucius remained in silence as he hung the articles on the cloak rack, though upon turning back to face the older man, he was greeted with a sneer.

"Really, Potter? I thought we had warned you before that your presence here is a danger to all of us. Not that you generally seem to care."

Already pale, Harry's features whitened a bit more as he darted another glance in the direction of the kitchen, worried that perhaps the Malfoys had guests. Lucius waved him off with a frown, finally taking a moment to look him over. The blood slowly pooling onto the hallway rug was not lost on him, nor was Harry's shaking despite the heat within the house. Letting out a long sigh, the Malfoy waved him into the sitting room before turning on his heel and marching back into the kitchen.

Harry gratefully slumped onto a throw blanket on one of the couches, mindful of the blood and not wishing to stain the furniture. He winced and hissed as one of his wounds pulled uncomfortably. Certainly returning to England had been a foolish venture, but he had not been expecting to encounter a poltergeist at the bed and breakfast he had been staying in. The wounds were from the broken glass it had felt the need to throw at him before he burned its remains. Of course, the old woman who ran the place had threatened to call the constable if he did not leave at once.

But of course, the fun had not stopped there. Fleeing the inn, he had nearly run head-first into Neville Longbottom. His only saving grace had been the cloak he had thrown on to protect himself from the rain. The near encounter had shocked him to the core, and prompted him to seek out Grimmauld Place, for the fact that he knew the Malfoys still kept it under the Fidelius Charm.

Footsteps in the hall alerted him to someone approaching the room, and despite himself, he tensed up for a fight. Draco entered, followed closely by Lucius, neither looked happy at his presence, and how could he blame them. They had a wanted fugitive slowly bleeding to death in their den. Draco's nose crinkled at the sight of him.

"You simply can't refrain from near death experiences every other day, can you, scar head. Where are you bleeding from?"

Shooting the blonde a lop-sided grin, Harry painfully lifted the hem of his shirt, showing off several deep gashes still glittering faintly with glass fragments. Lucius sucked in a sharp breath and frowned, bending at the waist to get a better view. Draco maintained an expression of indifference, but Harry knew his opinion by the way his fingers twitched towards his wand. He knew all too well that something of importance had been severed by the mere fact that he had yet to stop bleeding.

Lucius finally spoke, removing his wand from the holster at his waist, "Draco, go fetch a vial each of blood replenishing and healing potions... Mandrake tears and powdered bezoar would also not go amiss... Mr. Potter you had best not bleed all over that heirloom quilt. Get up, one of the guest bedrooms is more suited than our sitting room."

Standing was a bit of an issue. His remaining blood rushed to his head and he nearly planted on his face. Lucius' vice-like grip on his upper arms were the only thing to save him from a highly painful experience. Rolling his eyes, the patriarch none too gently manhandled him up the stairs. Thankfully it was not far, as they stopped at the second landing and entered one of the secondary bedrooms which used to be reserved for 'on call' Order members.

"Disrobe and lay down, Potter. The glass needs to be removed."

Gritting his teeth, Harry carefully drew his shirt over his head, politely draping it over the foot board, rather than tossing it to the floor. His boots were a different issue all together. Staring down at them for a moment, he sighed and withdrew the elder wand from its holster on his arm. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he muttered a quiet charm, waving it in the direction of his legs. After a moment the laces untied and they slipped from his feet of their own accord, dancing slightly and settling to the side of the door.

Not bothering with the pants, he laid down with a weary groan. Lucius remained silent through the motions, though stepped up to the bed side after a moment. Conjuring a small bowl with a wave of his wand, he set it on the nightstand and stared at Harry for a long moment.

"This will not be pleasant. If you feel the need to scream, do so in a quiet fashion. Scorpius is asleep."

Without much more warning than that, Lucius leaned over Harry and prodded one of the wounds with the tip of his wand. The glass shards wiggled briefly, sending jolts of pain through his abdomen, before they slowly inched free. The slowness of the process grated on Harry more than the actual agony of it, though certainly it was in his own interests to remain still and silent so as not to interrupt the delicate bit of magic. Even the smallest splinters needed removed or there would be the gruesome prospect of infection.

Unable to help his curiosity, he raised his head and watched as fine bits of glass and near sand-like specs coalesced in the air over his stomach before slowly being directed to the bowl by Lucius' direction. Shockingly, a sizable shard roughly an inch in length was among the mass. Grimacing, he dropped his head back to the pillow to stare at the ceiling. No wonder he was still bleeding. He had not thought he had been struck by pieces that large. It was only a miracle one of the larger veins had not been severed or he would have bled out within ten minutes.

A quiet knock on the door announced Draco's entrance. Glancing in his direction it looked as if he had raided a hospital. He carried several potions vials and linen bandages, with a plate of food floating in after him. He closed the door and sat the bulk of it on the stand. Even Lucius raised an eyebrow at his son, who simply shrugged at their strange looks.

"I doubt the healing potions will work immediately with all that." He nodded towards the bowl, handing Harry two of the potions. "Blood replenisher and healing potion. Drink them."

Doing so without issue, Harry watched with curiosity as Lucius opened one of the bottles containing a milky-green liquid. Draco supplied an answer to his unasked question, much to Harry's surprise. "Mandrake tears. They'll dull the pain until everything else kicks in."

Nodding slowly, he continued to observe, as Lucius upended the small vial over the worst of his wounds. The effect was instantaneous, and Harry let out a relieved breath as the area numbed. He was no stranger to pain but that did not mean he liked it. Like-wise, the Malfoy patriarch conjured a new bowl to replace the first. Emptying a healing potion, and what looked like blood clotting mixture, into it he sprinkled a coarse powder over the lot. Next to go into the bowl were the bandages, which he stirred around with magic.

Dissatisfied with the silence, Harry fidgeted with the comforter. "Thank you, for this. I know I'm putting your family at even more risk by coming here again. I simply didn't know where else to go. I'll leave as soon as I'm able."

Lucius snorted inelegantly, "And yet what I have to wonder at, Mr. Potter, is that you are back in the country at all. Are you attempting to get yourself captured?"

Shaking his head negatively, Harry gritted his teeth. Draco scrutinized him closely, far too observant for his own good. "I believe, father, that Potter here is in another bind. Am I right?"

"...Yes... You recall why I was here the last time? I failed to keep a promise."

Draco's sneer slipped away briefly, and he actually looked concerned. "Am I to assume someone you knew made a deal with a demon, then?"

Nodding tightly, Harry barely registered Lucius laying the soaked bandages over his wounds. The patriarch looked unmoved by the admission, though his gaze flickered with interest. "You were trying to break a contract, Mr. Potter? If you had bothered to ask me, I could have told you that it is impossible even by wizard standards. Only the demon in question can rescind the deal."

Closing his eyes tightly for a moment, he nodded again, well aware of his own failings as it was. The two Malfoys remained silent for a long moment, before Lucius finally broke it. "I doubt there is much that could have been done. For whatever reason the deal was made, this friend of yours sealed their own fate... Draco, see to the rest of this. Mr. Lupin will be arriving soon."

Shocked, Harry stared at Lucius' back as he made his way from the room. His gaze snapped to Draco by proxy, as the blonde offered him the plate of food. Sitting up with easier than standing, especially with not being able to feel the wounds anymore. Quite frankly he was ravenous, though a more serious question made him refrain from digging in to the delicious looking meal.

"Mr. Lup-... Teddy is coming here?"

"Yes... We agreed to watch over Albus for the weekend. Lily and James are sick with dragonpox. Ginevra is going to be staying with Andromeda to care for them... Teddy will be staying here as well. He was never vaccinated against dragonpox when he was born so he thought it best to stay away."

A sensation like ice water rolled down Harry's spine, reflected by his pained stare at Draco. Despite their past rivalries, the blonde hesitated a moment to sit at the foot of the bed, sympathy clear. They were not speaking as rivals right now, but rather, as one father to another. A different sort of pain filled Harry as he glanced blankly at the plate in his lap.

"Lily?" He asked weakly, already suspecting the answer. Draco nodded, looking uncomfortable.

"Ginevra remarried. No one too horrid... You might actually approve. Terry Boot. They had a daughter last year, and Boot was sickeningly sentimental enough to name her after your mother and Lovegood."

Some of the pain eased at hearing that. Terry was a good man, and no doubt treated Ginny and his- their children right. The knowledge did not completely dispel the nerves and agony at the thought that two of his children would be within the very house he now sat in. Certainly Teddy was not his by blood, however the metamorphmagus may as well have been after Voldemort was vanquished. Mentally counting the years, Harry suppressed his shock at realizing the small child would now be a young adult starting Hogwarts next year.

Draco awkwardly cleared his throat, drawing Harry from his depressed haze. "We will be telling them that a friend of the family is staying with us... Whether you meet them or not... personally I think you should. You never got to meet Albus, and Teddy missed you after you left."

Shaking his head, Harry sighed heavily, finally picking up the utensils and pushing the food about listlessly. "Meet them, and tell them what? Tell them that their father and uncle had to flee the country as a wanted murderer? Tell them that this will be the last time they see me before I go back to the states? They would be better off not knowing, Draco."

The blonde looked unconvinced, but did not dispute the words past mildly commenting, "It would bring you closure."

Before Harry could speak again, Draco got to his feet and exited the room. The heavy sound of the door closing was near instantly followed by the ringing of the doorbell. Nerves coiled in his stomach as he considered Malfoy's words. Truthfully he never had gotten over the loss, simply repressed the feelings accompanied by it. That did not mean that he would want to subject Teddy and Albus to his presence. It would only serve to confuse or frighten them if they knew why he had departed the country all those years ago.

Setting the plate of food aside, appetite lost, Harry forcibly turned his thoughts to why he was back in England in the first place, rather than the faint voices heard down stairs. After Dean's death, Sam and Bobby had parted ways, the young Winchester falling off the radar in his grief. Unable to take the sorrowful atmosphere, as a reminder of his own lacking, Harry had pursued researching the resurrection stone. Unfortunately Beedle and the Bard appeared to have been the only source of information on the Hallows that he was able to find.

He had attempted to summon Dean's spirit through the stone, but it had not worked. Harry was certain that there had to be a way to contact even the departed damned using it, he simply was not sure how. He had been intending to head to Hogwarts to talk to Dumbledore's portrait when the interruption occurred. The problem may have been solved for him, though, as he belatedly recalled Phineas Nigellus' portrait upstairs. The dour Black would be able to contact Dumbledore's portrait directly, provided Harry could catch him while he was at Grimmauld Place.

Determined to not impose upon the Malfoys for longer than strictly necessary, Harry carefully checked the bandages, pleased to note that already the bleeding had stopped and the edges of the worst gashes were healing. He carefully wrapped the loose bandaging in place with the left over linens on the table, and climbed to his feet. While unsteady, sheer willpower kept him moving as he silently exited the bedroom. Risking being caught out by the children or one of the Malfoys would be worth it, if he could collect the information he needed and leave in a timely manner.

Fine in thought, if not in practice, luck had it that he exited his room as Narcissa ascended the stairs, followed closely by two young boys. Harry's heart plummeted to his feet. The blonde woman halted her tracks at seeing him, looking rather like a deer caught in headlights before she regained composure.

"Ah, I was not expecting to see you up and about so quickly. Lucius informed me you would be bed ridden for at least a day..." She stepped aside and motioned for the two boys to step in front of her on the landing, resting her hands on each of their shoulders. She appeared determined about something, and Harry had the nagging suspicion as to what.

"These are Ted Lupin," She patted the shoulder of the oldest looking boy, who sported long green hair and elfen ears. "And Albus Potter." The youngest caused Harry's heart to jolt. He looked the spitting image of Harry at that age. The seven year old shyly tried to hide behind Narcissa's robes, but the matriarch was having none of it. Almond green eyes peered up at him, and the grizzled hunter could near physically feel his heart break.

"Don't be rude, introduce yourself." Narcissa stared at him expectantly, as if he were a child himself. Shifting his weight awkwardly, Harry crouched to eye level with them, gaze sad as he noted Teddy's eye color change to match his and Albus'. The oldest was staring at him with a strange expression on his face. Clearing his throat, Harry made a poor attempt at a smile.

"Hello. I'm... Jason Singer."

Ignoring Narcissa's disappointed frown, he matched Teddy's stare with one of his own. He could not shake the feeling that the boy knew more than he let on. Not that it was difficult considering his near clone was standing not a foot from him. A quiet voice drew their attention, as Albus spoke up.

"You're hurt."

Glancing down at his bare chest, Harry blushed. "I am. But I assure you Lucius and Draco are quite skilled at healing."

The boy's face lit up and he nodded eagerly. "Grandpa Lucius healed James' arm once. He was sliding down the rails and fell. I told him not to, but he didn't listen."

Harry nodded, amused despite the situation as he shot a questioning look to Narcissa. "Grandpa Lucius?"

Smirking in a devious manner, the woman nodded. "Oh yes. The boys and Lily stay over often at Draco's request. It keeps Scorpius company. After you left Ginevra maintained ties with us. I am Grandma Narcissa, and they are quite fond of their Uncle Draco."

Albus's smiled and shyly gazed up at Narcissa. "Can I go see Scorpius?" The woman nodded indulgently, surprising Harry at the contrasting image she painted now to what he used to know of her. Life after Voldemort had obviously done well for the Malfoys despite the troubling times.

"Of course dear. He is sleeping in his room, but I doubt he will mind being woken up."

Happy, if sedate, Albus made his way past Harry and up the stairs, disappearing down one of the hallways. The blonde woman glanced at Teddy, who shook his head, still staring uncomfortably at the hunter. Before their eyes, his features slowly shifted back to normal; hair going black and retracting to shoulder length, eyes returning to an amber brown. There was no doubt that he possessed the Black side of Tonks' genes, though his eyes were clearly Remus'.

Slowly, the boy stepped forward, hand reaching out to trace Harry's cheek. Against his will, Harry's eyes watered. Excusing herself quietly, the blonde made her way back down the stairs, giving the two some privacy. Harry both mentally cursed and thanked her for it, as a tear slipped free of his control. Teddy seemed unsure for a moment, before he wrapped his arms around Harry's neck in a tight hug.

"Uncle Harry, it's alright."

A dam broke, and Harry was unable to keep more tears from falling as he returned the hug fiercely, uncaring as his wounds ached at the pressure. Having Teddy recognize him caught him off guard on a deep level, shattering his feeble notions of keeping his distance from the boys. Drawing in a shaky breath, he pulled away, wiping at his eyes. Shaking his head, Harry lightly gripped Teddy's shoulders.

"No... Teddy." Taking a moment to regain some of his composure, he made sure he had the ten year old's attention before continuing. "As far as anyone else must know, I'm only Jason Singer... a friend of the Malfoys."

Face set in a serious frown, Teddy nodded in understanding. "Uncle Draco told me and James and Albus about you. We know you didn't do those horrible things the ministry says you did."

"You shouldn't tell anyone else about me. It's for the best."

Standing shakily from his crouch, Harry closed his eyes briefly as vertigo made the world spin, though he quickly opened them at Teddy's words.

"Can I... Can I send you owls, now that I know you're not dead?"

Torn with uncertainty at the puppy-dog stare from his godson, Harry caved. "Yes... But you know it's unlikely we'll ever be able to see each other again. I'll have to leave again once I've healed up enough."

The boy looked rebellious for a moment, before his face fell with sadness. "I know... It's better than never talking to you again, though. I'll be careful, I promise. I'll even send the letters to 'Jason Singer'."

Swelling with pride and a sorrowful longing, Harry was uncertain if his heart could break any more than it already was. Teddy was far too mature for one his age. It reminded him far too much of his own childhood. He ruffled Teddy's hair, eliciting an outraged yelp. Smiling sadly, Harry hugged him again briefly before letting go.

"I'll be leaving before sun-up. I can't keep the Malfoys or you two in danger by staying. I love you, Teddy, never doubt that... I need to go take care of some things... Please don't look for me."

Sniffling quietly, the brunet nodded unwillingly. "Go play with Albus and Scorpius, I'm sure they could use the company."

Reluctance clear in his posture, Teddy non the less listened, turning to retrace Albus' footsteps. Harry watched him go with a heavy heart. A quiet noise from the landing below made the hunter flinch instinctively towards drawing the pistol tucked at the side of his trousers, though after a moment he registered Lucius Malfoy as the patriarch ascended to join him. The man looked impassive, if uncomfortable at having obviously overheard some of the conversation.

"Is there a reason you are out of bed, Mr. 'Singer'?"

Nodding with a flush of embarrassment at the wet tracks still marring his face, Harry composed himself at the familiar business-like tone the Malfoy used to address him. Forcibly slipping back into the mind-frame of a hunter, his back straightened and he mentally forced himself to more pressing, semi-safe, issues.

"Does the portrait of Phineas Nigellus still reside here?"

"No, we had it removed to Malfoy Manor for privacy reasons. The departed Professor Black had a loathed habit of relaying information to Headmasters of a certain school. Why do you ask?"

Harry sighed. "I need to speak with Dumbledore's portrait. I would rather not go to Hogwarts directly."

Raising an eyebrow, Lucius appeared to be in thought for a moment before looking annoyed. "You can use Snape's. Draco insisted on procuring a duplicate for Severus to 'visit'. It's located in the third floor library." He hesitated oddly for a moment before adding, "Safe travels, Mr. Potter."

Turning to make his way back downstairs, Harry felt as if something strange had just transpired that he was unaware of, where the strict Malfoy was concerned. Shrugging it off, he mounted the stairs, all too familiar with the library in question. Two stray lethifold had been found slithering under the stacks. How the Blacks had gotten their hands on one much less two was anyone's guess, but they had attempted to suffocate and eat Ronald. Only Dung had saved the weasel from an untimely demise.

Shaking off such thoughts of the past, Harry entered the room with some trepidation. Even as a portrait Snape disliked him, choosing to throw veiled insults and start arguments than actually help with anything. There was only one portrait frame in the main sitting area, bronze plaque emblazoned with the Professor's name. It was empty. Suddenly impatient to have done with it, Harry knocked rudely on the frame. Cursing and glaring, the response was almost instantaneous as the professor inched into view.

Upon seeing Harry, his glare intensified and he looked as if he might leave. Harry refused to give him the chance.

"I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore."

"Not even so much as a 'please' or 'thank you', Potter? Your manners certainly have not improved. You would make your filthy dogfather proud, I'm sure, following in his footsteps. You haven't even the decency to be properly clothed."

Scowling and leveling his own glare at the painted canvas, his patience was already worn thin with the first words from Snape's mouth. Removing a lighter from his pants pocket, he lit it threateningly. Eying the flame warily, Snape scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm already dead, you dunderhead. As if setting my painting on fire would do any good. Besides, Dumbledore is off visiting the Fat Lady."

Grudgingly closing the cap on the zippo, his ire increased at that news. Of course Dumbledore was rarely there when he needed him, even as a portrait. Ignoring Snape for a moment, he spread his fingers to stare at the ring pensively. The thought occurred to him to perhaps try summoning the headmaster's spirit with it, but he banished such an idea. His focus snapped back to the Professor as he heaved a put-upon sigh.

"Not that I care, Potter, but what's eating you? You positively reek of drama and angst."

Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he let out a slow breath to calm his temper and the growing headache. "I need advice on the Hallows... I don't suppose you would know anything about demons or Hell?"

"This, again? Honestly Potter you'd think after the last time you'd give up. You picked the library clean and found nothing."

Staring at Snape, Harry shook his head. "I'm asking you. Not the library, Snape."

Eyes squinting down at Harry, the professor leaned against the edge of the painting. After a moment he mimicked Harry by pinching the bridge of his nose. The gesture was curious to the hunter, given that he doubted pictures got migraines.

"Judging by your statement regarding the Hallows, it is safe to assume you have the highly foolish and asinine notion of contacting a soul which has been damned to the pit. Give. Up." Snape stared at him seriously for a moment before continuing. "Even if you manage it, you would simply be faced with a broken geist. Nothing that goes into Hell ever remains human. Even the most simple wizards know this."

Looking away, Harry shook his head, unwilling to believe such statements. He recalled his visions quite clearly. He knew that John had escaped Hell when the Devil's Gate was opened. His friend and fellow hunter had not broken under the torture. He was confident that Dean was of the same mettle. Glancing back up, Harry opened his mouth to retort. The portrait was gone... along with the library.

Spinning quickly on his heel, Harry drew his gun and aimed it unerringly towards the figure standing feet away. He immediately recognized the man by his tan trench coat and untidy brown hair. A puzzled expression was directed at the firearm in his hands before Castiel took a step in his direction. Harry took a step back, faltering as one of his heels encountered open air. He darted a glance at their surroundings and paled.

The atrium within the Department of Mysteries at the ministry of magic had not changed at all in the years since he had laid eyes on it. Intimidating rows of benches created a coliseum, at the center of which stood the Veil. His insides lurched as the whispers reached his ears in a tantalizing flurry. They stood mere yards from the fluttering curtains. If he just stepped through, perhaps he could see Sirius again. Breaking free of the entrancement, Harry leveled a fierce glare at the 'angel'.

"Why did you bring me here? And what the _hell_ do you want?"

Castiel bowed his head briefly before earnestly looking Harry in the eyes. He appeared apologetic for a moment, before his features became stoic.

"Hell, is exactly what I want. I need your help, Harry Potter."

On guard, Harry slowly pooled power into the ring, preparing to defend himself if needs be. As if sensing the action, Castiel's gaze darted to rest on the piece of jewelry. Shock and anger appeared briefly before likewise disappearing under a mask of inscrutable foreboding. Filing the reaction away for later consideration, Harry did not allow it to distract him for long.

"What do you mean?"

This time when the angel stepped forward, the hunter was forced to stand his ground or risk falling down the stairs at his back. They stared each other down for a long moment before Castiel tilted his head to the side, as if listening to the whispers as well.

"You can hear them... I know you can. The demons." Visibly startled, Harry darted another glance at the veil. The angel nodded slightly, not taking his eyes off Harry. "It is... an unnatural gate way. The wizards created it as a means of executing prisoners. It sends their souls straight to Hell."

Unable to hide another reaction, Harry's heart lurched as if stabbed. The demon's comment about Sirius coming into disturbing clarity. Again, Castiel simply nodded as if sensing his thoughts. "My superiors have given me leave to deal with a certain situation as I see fit... Dean's soul needs to be brought back, and I require your aid. In return, I will... rescue Sirius Black's soul as well, and return it with me to heaven."

Swallowing thickly, Harry trembled as he slowly lowered the gun, pain clear in his eyes. It seemed to make Castiel uncomfortable, as he looked away briefly.

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"You do not. I can only give you my word."

Several thoughts raced through Harry's mind as he fought to find an argument against what the supposed angel proposed. In all honesty, the words rang true, with everything Harry knew and suspected already regarding Sam's and Dean's situation. Closing his eyes briefly he shook his head.

"Why do you need my help? You're the angel, can't you just waltz right in and yank him out?"

"It is not that simple... I require the ring if I am to return Dean's soul to his body."

Wetting his lips nervously, Harry gazed down at the ring on his finger, doubt and hope warring in his mind. The ring looked innocent and unassuming as he allowed the power to dissipate from it. Glancing back at Castiel, his gaze hardened.

"You swear you'll bring Dean back... a-and save Sirius?"

The look was returned just as seriously. "I swear. Sirius Black was a good man. His soul does not belong to the demons."

Hesitant in his movements, Harry slipped the ring from his finger, and held it out with a wavering hand for Castiel. After a brief pause the angel took it, holding it near reverently for a moment before tucking it into one of the pockets of his coat. The loss of the ring felt almost like losing a limb to Harry, odd sensation passing through him as it was gone from his sight. Castiel turned to walk towards the veil, but Harry stopped him, unsure of himself despite his commanding tone.

"I expect to get that back."

In an eye blink, Castiel stood mere inches from him. Jerking back reflexively, only a strong hand on his upper arm prevented him from tripping. His skin tingled even after Castiel released him, as if static electricity were bound to the area. He nearly missed it as the angel spoke gruffly,

"I will return it when the task is done."

Before he could react, calloused fingers tapped the center of his forehead. He blinked and found himself standing outside of Singer Salvage Yard, discarded belongings from Grimmauld Place at his feet.

.

.

.

* * *

Note: Curiouser and Curiouser. Happy holidays.


	12. Strange Days

Explaining to Bobby exactly what happened was not high on Harry's priority list, considering he had little clue what was happening himself. Ignoring his friend's confused looks at finding him on his doorstep after having told him he would be gone at least a month, he simply muttered of 'plans gone haywire' before retreating to a guest bedroom. For once in his life he was glad to smell the whiskey on Bobby's breath, as the man simply shook his head before locking himself in his sitting room to brood. The man had become a master since Dean's death.

Depression over the events and conversations that had taken place set in like the plague, as he considered Teddy's words. His godson wanted to keep contact with him, despite knowing the propaganda of his fugitive status. Had he done the right thing in encouraging it? Or would the situation simply be worsened as his and Sirius' had? He could still remember all the anger and hope he had felt at finding out about Sirius, only to have it ripped from him when things began to look up in their favor. But no. He had told Teddy that they would never see each other again.

Thoughts churning with indecision, Harry awaited news from the angel impatiently. Often when he and Bobby met in their wanderings of the house, conversation was stilted or non-existent, the elder hunter's breath reeking of whiskey and stale bread. The house felt like a prison to Harry, but he was unwilling to leave without some word reaching him of Dean. Nearly a month went by before the long-dreaded and anticipated sign occurred.

Harry knew something was wrong the second he heard the bottle break. The near deafening sound in the silence jolted him to his feet, and before he could register it, he was downstairs in the kitchen, staring at a grief-stricken Bobby and a bedraggled looking dead hunter. Dean glanced at him and flinched back, hands held up as a sign of peace. The younger hunter reacted instinctively, unholstering his gun and pointing it unerringly at the center of Dean's chest.

"Whoa! Whoa! Don't shoot! It's me- it's Dean!"

Focused, but listening, Harry did not lower the firearm just yet, glancing at Bobby to double check that the other hunter was uninjured. He appeared to be fine, simply spooked. He motioned for Dean to pick up a silver and bronze edged knife from the table, ignoring Bobby's feeble protests. Seeming to catch on to his idea, Dean's eyes lit up as he snatched up the blade, bringing it down unflinchingly on the fleshy part of his forearm. Harry watched intently, twitching and finally lowering the gun when nothing appeared to happen.

"You checked him with salt and holy water, Bobby? Bobby!"

His shout finally jolted the older hunter from his shocked staring, and he nodded. "Yeah... I did..."

Dean put the knife back on the table and lowered his hands, staring between Bobby and Harry with slightly wide eyes. Upon closer inspection, Harry could tell that the Winchester was close to freaking out. Finally putting the gun away entirely, he strode froward and shocked them by pulling Dean into a fierce hug. It was returned awkwardly, and Harry relinquished his place to Bobby after a moment. He stood back and watched the reunion, silently composing himself and wishing the angel were here to explain things for the others.

"Where's Sam?"

The question brought Harry's attention back to the matter at hand. Sam would most certainly require tracking down. Though, in hindsight Harry was not looking forward to _that _reunion and explanation. The younger Winchester had been devastated. Thankfully Bobby decided to take the initiative on that question. Quite honestly Harry was beginning to feel a tad ill, as relief washed the depressed haze from his mind.

"I don't know. He took off about a week after... I haven't been able to track him."

Leaning heavily against a wall, Harry's insides lurched with hunger and malcontent. He tuned out the ensuing argument between hunters as he considered how long it had been since he had anything to eat. Not entirely suicidal, he had been sure to consume stale toast and questionable sandwiches occasionally since his return to Bobby's house. Not quite as shocked as he should be, he sighed quietly as he realized he had not eaten a proper portion of food since Dean died.

His attention wavered back to the conversation as he heard his name brought up. "You're tellin' me you just sat here moping, drinking a liquor store, letting Sam run off to be his normal self-destructive self? What about Harry? Why couldn't he just wave his hands, work his mojo, and check in on Sam? To, I don't know... . **Make sure Sam's even still alive!**"

The insinuation of fault made Harry bristle, though Bobby shot him a look as he came to his defense. The older hunter at least knew the dangerous line Harry walked, in regards to his volatile temper.

"The past couple of months hasn't exactly been sunshine and lollipops!You don't think that I tried? Or _he _tried? You self-righteous idjit! Harry almost _killed _himself tryin' to find a way to bring _you _back from the pit! _Sam _nearly killed himself trying to find a way to bring you back! You don't think I _let them_, do you? Both of them ran off on their own to try saving _you_. There was nothing I or Harry could have done about Sam. So don't you dare try layin' blame, boy. You were dead, and we all had to deal with that."

The fight seemed to drain out of Dean, as he slumped into a chair and cradled his face in his palms. His shoulders trembled minutely from obvious tension, though Harry knew he was not crying. The wizard knew Dean would not cry for a while, and certainly not in front of anyone else. Hell was like the Disney Land of torture and depravity, he imagined. He only prayed that Dean did not remember much of it.

Clearing his throat quietly to get their attention, Harry removed his cell phone from his pocket and offered it to Dean. The motion received a strange look. "Call the cell phone company and find out where Sam's phone is... That's a start."

Dean stared at him for a moment before hesitantly reaching out to accept the device. He nearly looked like he _would _cry, as he finally seemed to take in Harry's unhealthy pale skin, skinnier than normal frame, and the bandaging visible through the haphazardly buttoned shirt he wore. Waving dismissively at the look, Harry turned to make his way out of the room. Pausing in the door frame, he glanced over his shoulder at the hunter.

"Welcome back."

* * *

As it turned out, Sam was located in Pontiac... mere minutes from where they had placed Dean in the ground. The realization of course planted suspicions in the other two hunters minds. For Harry, it merely caused some irritation. Castiel had sworn to return the ring after the deed was done, yet not a whisper had reached him from the supposed angel. Hesitant to cause himself to look like a fool without proof, at the moment he was biding his time until the angel presented himself. Though, who was he kidding? Patience never had been one of his strong suits.

Hunters really were predictable creatures, Harry mused, as he held Sam firmly in a headlock. The sight would have been comical, the burly, tall man being restrained with ease by the much smaller and lithe figure, were it not for the silver knife laying at their feet. The wizard admired their caution, however he was getting thoroughly sick of all the attempts on Dean's life since his resurrection. The older man was looking distressed, as he cut himself -again- with one of the specialized knives from Sam's collection.

Releasing the over-grown puppy, Harry stood back with Bobby to the side as he watched the ensuing reunion between the two brothers. Admittedly, the sight did warm Harry's heart some, as it was not often that he got to witness such joy from others in his 'profession'. His mood plummeted as they got down to business.

"How... how is this possible, Dean?"

Dean slumped onto a corner of the bed furnishing the small motel room. He looked quite exhausted as he scrubbed a hand over his face, shoulders hung in defeat. The display of utter enfeeblement floored Harry to his core. The picture Dean had always painted for others was that of a 'never say die', insatiable, thrill seeker. Then again, one did not return from Hell lightly.

"I don't know. Though by your reaction, you didn't do it. And Bobby and Harry swear they didn't. This is bad."

Harry winced, though the wording was apt. "Bad? You coming back is a bad thing, Dean? How could you say that!"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, making a noise of annoyance. "I'm not sayin' I'm not happy to be alive, Sam. But we have to look at the facts. When I dug myself out, it was ground zero. Looked like someone dropped a nuke smack dab on my grave. Circular pattern, one hundred yard radius. You telling me that doesn't reek of black magic? And what about this?-" He waved a hand to indicate his body.

"Last memory I have, I was a hell hound's _chew_ toy. Why are there no wounds, no scars? Something doesn't add up."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Harry quietly excused himself from the room. While he could stand idly by while they speculated the cause, he would _not _outright lie to them about something like this. They had every right to know, to alleviate the stress and uncertainty. It was a very simple fact, known to himself, that by all accounts his lying skills were sub par when pressed by those he considered friends and family.

The Winchesters had yet to weasel themselves into the latter, but he could tentatively call them friends simply by their proximity to Bobby. Wandering around the building, he claimed a small picnic table set just off the parking lot. Gazing up at the cloudy sky, he had to wonder at the entire situation. It was surreal, even by his standards of weird.

Dean had made a deal with a demon. A hell hound had killed him after a face-off with said demon. An angel was intent on stalking Harry, and had taken the resurrection stone to bring the hunter back. So where did that leave them now? With no knowledge of why an angel of all beings wanted Dean back from the grave, they were blind to what Harry suspected was a much larger picture. It did not sit well with him.

Coughing quietly and feeling exceedingly foolish, Harry kept his gaze on the sky as he quietly intoned, "Castiel, if you can hear me, we need to talk."

Holding his breath for a moment, he glanced around. No new movement greeted him, reinforcing the mild embarrassment at the gesture. A quiet sigh escaped him as he dropped his gaze to the bare patch on his finger where the ring should be. Nagging worry over the decision ate at him. Even on its own the ring was powerful, especially in the hands of one who obviously knew how to use it.

Footsteps sounded behind him, startling him into reaching for a pistol. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, he only relaxed when Dean stalked into view. He looked tense and distinctly unhappy, not seeming to register Harry's presence until the wizard cleared his throat. Waiting patiently for the hunter's instincts to die down, he awkwardly gestured beside him on the table, inviting Dean to sit.

"How are you holding up?"

Dean gave a ragged sigh, plopping down beside Harry and scrubbing a hand over his face. "I'm fine... I never thanked you, by the way. For helping us. So, uh. Thanks."

Quirking an eyebrow, Harry shook his head. "You're welcome, but I wasn't doing it for you... I was doing it because John never would have forgiven me for walking away. And I know you're not fine, but I figure your brother will be doing a good enough job pressing you for touching moments of sap."

The response seemed to throw Dean for a moment, settling them into silence for a minute. Harry was content with the lack of talk, as he fell back into his own depressed thoughts and musings. Movement from Dean brought him back to the present. Curiosity perked, Harry observed as Dean slowly rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing his shoulder. The sight beneath caused Harry's breath to catch.

A scar, shaped as a hand, marred the skin. The flesh was still pink and raised, denoting its new quality. Spearing the hunter was an unfathomable look, Harry waited for him to explain himself. He had claimed to have no scars while in the presence of the others. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, Dean withdrew a small object, which he offered to the wizard. He looked... blank. Dread filled Harry as he accept the small item, chill rolling down his spine as he realized what it was.

"Care to explain that? I found it in my pocket after I crawled out of the hole." He gestured towards the familiar ring. Several excuses flew through Harry's mind all at once, but each sounded as flimsy as the last, as Dean's blank stare bore down on him. The hunter was about as wrung as any person could be, and Harry realized rather abruptly that lying would be bad idea. Dean had already threatened to kill him once, back when he found out about his magic; now was not the time for hedging.

Steeling himself, he slipped the ring back on, and a weight seemed to slip from his shoulders. Regarding the hunter seriously as he gathered his thoughts, he spoke plainly. "I gave it to someone, whom claimed to be able to raise you... As you're sitting here now, and the ring has been returned to me, he fulfilled his end of the bargain."

Dean licked his lips, shoulders slumping. The wizard winced at his own wording, though could not think of a better way to put it, other than, '_Oh, by the way, I made a deal with an angel to bring you back. Nice change-up, right?'_. That would have gone over well. The Winchesters did not strike him as people who would believe him without proof, and he was currently sans angelic tax accountant.

"And, uh, who exactly is this _friend_ of yours? He make you a nice deal? Couldn't refuse it?"

A migraine began forming behind Harry's eyes. Of course he should have foreseen the leap in logic. Crossroad demons had already been tried, by himself and Sam, from the younger hunters heart-broken explanation in the hotel room. As Sam had said, no demon was willing to barter for Dean. Harry's summons had not even garnered a response, which he found highly suspect.

"There were no demons involved." That he knew of anyway. But he would never tell the other that. He continued, bristling slightly at Dean's derisive snort. "Even if I had thought of it- No offense, but you're definitely not worth the price of my soul."

Shaking his head, the weary hunter speared him with an incredulous look. "No. See, you say that; but from what Bobby and Sam said, and what I've seen... That you even made _any _type of deal, for me? Sorry pal, I'm not buying it. What's your angle?"

Harry was spared from answering the difficult accusation as an unearthly ringing noise sounded. Sharp and high pitched, both hunters yelled out in pain, clutching their ears in attempt to drown it out. Street lamps and windows shattered under the force, causing car alarms to trigger and adding to the agonizing cacophony. Harry whimpered quietly as he felt wetness beneath his palm. A squinted glance at Dean showed blood leaking sluggishly from his ear.

As suddenly as the sound began, it ceased abruptly, leaving the two hunters in a state of shock as they picked themselves from the ground, leaning unsteadily on each other as they attempted to catch their bearings and fight the residual pain. Alarmed shouts from the building were nearly as agonizing, though more welcome as it assured both of them that their hearing had not been overly affected.

Sam and Bobby ran towards them, the younger clutching his duffel. They both looked stunned at the destruction surrounding them, though were mercifully quick to shake it off. Sam supported Dean, while Bobby helped Harry. Both hunters began ushering them towards their cars, wisely, as police sirens could be heard in the distance. They needed to be gone ten minutes ago. There certainly would be time to discuss the occurrence later, when Harry's brain was not attempting to leak out his busted ear drums.

He did not protest as he was shoved into the back of the impala with Dean, Sam climbing into the front seat and wasting no time at all in peeling from the parking lot. Bobby would have more luck if he got questioned by the police. Harry recalled with wry amusement, the news reports on Dean the Serial Killer, and Sam his accomplice. His record was not exactly pristine either.

They drove in silence for what felt like hours, though in all likelihood only an hour or two had passed. Sam checked the rear view mirror every so often, checking on them without having to turn his attention from the road. Being crammed into the backseat with another full grown man was rather awkward despite the spacious nature of the impressive car. Both Harry and Dean were still nursing headaches the size of Texas, and weary, resulting in them resting heavily against each other in the middle of the seat.

Harry was secure enough to admit that it felt nice after the trying day. Even the most innocent and simple of contact with another friendly human being did wonders for relaxing him and easing the residual aches. Dean fidgeted uneasily on occasion, but was too tired to protest using Harry's shoulder as a pillow. Not even the youngest could summon the will for teasing, in light of the shock of finally having his brother back.

* * *

Harry knew he was dreaming once again, as he glanced around the forest clearing. Mountains topped with snow rose up in the distance, but did nothing to dissuade the warm spring sun from reaching him. All was peaceful and still, though distant bird calls could be heard. Turning in a circle to glimpse every feature, tranquility pressed upon his lucid mind. This was most certainly one of the more pleasant dreamscapes he had witnessed.

Sitting down, he lay back with a quiet noise of contentment at the soft grass and moss cushioning him. Most of his troubles were washed away, leaving him free to simply enjoy a very rare moment. Rare even in his own dreams. Reaching up to lazily scratch his chin, he was surprised to find the light beard he had accumulated gone. Curiously glancing at his arms, most of his waking scars were not present either. Such was odd, but he shrugged it off without a second thought.

What seemed to be hours passed him by as he sunned himself. The only movement caused by changing of his position. Mind free to wander without worry, he directed his attention to recalling more warming times in his life, blocking the ugly truths so as to prolong the enjoyment of the situation.

Leaving the Dursleys for a magical school. Becoming friends with Ron and Hermione. Finding Sirius. His first kiss with Ginny, among other things. The day his first child had been born, and the soaring joy of at last having a family of his own... He growled quietly as the more worrisome memories attempted to sully the pristine images. Despite the hardships and betrayals, he still held those memories dear to his heart.

Startling from his relaxed pose, Harry sat up as a twig snapped in the foliage behind him. Whipping around lightning quick, he snapped into a crouch, peering suspiciously into the underbrush. In all honesty the thought had been nagging his mind, when this dream would turn into a nightmare. Two amber eyes gazed back at him from beneath a wild rose bush.

Without much effort, a rust colored coyote weaseled its way through the thorny vines to stand in plain view. Its eyes never left Harry, even as it sat on its haunches to pick petals and twigs from its bedraggled fur. The display did not set Harry at ease. With one last quiet growl at a particularly stubborn leaf, the canine turned its full attention on the wizard, head cocked with obvious curiosity.

Narrowing his eyes at it, Harry growled. "I'm not food, just so you know..." He blinked, looking a bit perturbed. "What am I saying? This is my dream. If you attack me, I shall fashion a nice pair of boots from your hide."

The coyote yipped quietly in obvious amusement, tail wagging a bit as it ambled over to sit beside the wary hunter. While not the strangest thing to have encountered either in reality or a dream, Harry none the less found himself surprised when it opened its jaws next.

"Oh, you try it buddy-boy. This may be your mind, but dreams have a way of biting back."

It flashed a wolfish grin. A coyote had just talked to him. It sounded male, voice filled with laughter, as if there were a joke the wizard was not quite privy to. Its tail wagged energetically as he scrutinized it.

"Don't tell me you're me, and I'm about to undergo so huge revelation or something."

It laughed again, flopping over to lay on its side, seeming to not have a care in the world. "No worries about that. Newsflash, talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity. Let's face it, you're no Dr. Phil, but a far cry from the nut house. Nope, you are so honored to be talking to your very own, home grown, trickster!"

Harry boggled, processing the information, though not certain if he actually wished to. Pressing a hand to his forehead, he let himself fall back with a groan. The self proclaimed trickster raised his head to snicker at him. The hunter had to wonder at how he was able to get a migraine here.

"First a bleedin' angel, and now a trickster? My head is not bloody Grand Central!"

"You'd be surprised. You humans have such an over glorified opinion of yourselves. But not enough occlumency in the world'll save you from us higher beings."

Not bothering to hide a snort, Harry stared at the coyote in a disbelieving manner. "_We _have an over glorified opinion of ourselves? With you talking as if you're much better."

"Oh, but I am, bucko! Oh-ho am I better! But enough bragging. Aren't you curious?"

Raising an eyebrow, Harry feigned disinterest. In all honesty he was keen on hearing what the trickster had to say. After the mess with Castiel he had enough on his plate without a minor deity throwing curve balls. An obvious smirk played at the corners of the canine's mouth. The look did not bother him, oddly. After dealing with the Weasley twins for so long, on top of every other weird occurrence in his life, this was far from the oddest.

"Am I overstepping myself in some way that requires your observation?"

"Nah, you're as humble as pie. Your latest companions on the other hand... Well, that's a different story all together, and for another time. But down to business, can't keep you out for much longer or those chuckleheads will start to wonder. I've got a proposition for you; a little 'I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine'."

Wariness stole over Harry's features. Dealing with a trickster was as bad as dealing with a demon at times, from the accounts he had read in lore. Sensing the automatic rejection on the tip of Harry's tongue, the coyote's tail stopped wagging. He regarded Harry seriously for a long second before sighing.

"Look, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that this whole Dean coming back from the dead deal has a price tag. The feathered wonder may have followed the letter of your deal, but mark my words... you'll regret it later if you don't at least hear me out."

He paused, and when no objection was forthcoming from the wizard, he pressed on, looking perhaps more earnest than he ever had in his long life. Harry knew it could all be a trick, but he was compelled to at least listen, as the coyote said.

"A storm's coming. And you, the Winchesters, are right smack in the center of it all. And I mean, _The_ Storm. No cats and dogs here; we're talking brimstone, heavenly fire, and Tim Curry in drag." The trickster darted his tongue to lick his snout. The action was reminiscent of nerves.

"Thankfully, there is a way to stop it. At least for the moment... Keep the seals from breaking, keep the storm from hitting the shore."

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end. Brimstone and heavenly fire? He could not suppress a shiver. Surely the trickster wasn't talking about... the apocalypse. The coyote nodded slowly, keen eyes never leaving Harry's. Dread filled him, uncertain of how to question that sort of statement. The fact that it was a trickster informing him made far too much sense, with what he knew of them.

"What... What are the seals?"

Opening his mouth to respond, they were both shocked and startled when a clap of thunder shook the ground, the sky turning dark and ominous before their eyes. The canine's hackles rose and a deep growl worked its way out of his throat. Obviously there was more to this than a mere hiccup in Harry's subconscious.

"Time to wake up. Call your angel, he'll te-"

Harry let out a strangled yelp of pain as he was jolted awake, his skin crawling with static electricity. His movement disrupted Dean, who elbowed him rather painfully in the side. Sam glanced back at him with some concern.

"You okay?"

Glancing out the window, he saw that the eastern sky was beginning to brighten with the approaching sun. Flexing his fingers in an attempt to shake the lingering pain, it took him a moment to register Sam's inquiry. Doubt warred with logic, as he considered the contents of the fresh dream. The longer he remained silent, the more concern Sam showed. Finally, Harry waved him off.

"I'm fine. Just a bit of a doozy in the dream department. You need a break, mate? I could finish the last leg to Bobby's."

It took a moment before Sam looked as if to believe him, though shook his head in the negative at the offer. To Harry's eyes the youngest Winchester looked wrung-out and exhausted. He shrugged it off. No doubt he was used to driving on little sleep, and certainly could use the distraction. Settling back down, he was forced to ponder the dream and the issue it presented. How in the nine hells did one go about summoning an angel?

.

.

.

* * *

**Note: **Kudos to _Effiron _and _Slashguy _for figuring out the Edit Story work-around. This chapter has been done since mid march, but this is the first I had gotten around to reading the forums about the errors. _  
_


	13. Don't Stop Believing

"Harry... you realize you're completely bonkers, right?"

Draco boggled at the ragged hunter through the conjured floo connection. The rag-tag team had arrived back at Bobby's before the older hunter himself, inspiring a period of tense rest among them. Sam's obsessive driving resulted in him being too tired to grill either Dean or Harry about the happenings back in Illinois. Dean himself was outside working off steam on some of Bobby's projects. Thus left Harry the opportunity to contact his only available resource.

Harry could understand the blonde's reluctance about the situation. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he pressed on, "Look, all I'm asking for is a quick look-see. Snape was going to tell me something before a bloody angel whisked me away-"

"Which I find myself hard pressed to believe!"

Glaring, Harry pressed on, "-And now I've got a friend back from the dead. I need answers, and I need them now. If you, or Snape, has any information on angelic beings, I want to know."

Returning the hard stare, Draco shook his head. "Potter, there is no way in hell I am letting you traipse back through my house. You can bloody well know that Teddy has been talking almost non-stop about his 'Uncle Jason'. It's put us in a tough spot with Granger and Ginevra grilling us on who we let near the kids."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Harry growled quietly. He knew he should never have gone to the Malfoys in the first place. Shaking his head almost violently, he speared the blonde with a pleading look, provoking an unamused sneer.

"Look... I am sorry for disarraying your life. I never should have..." Wetting his lips, he pressed on, "I will never step foot in England again, let alone your home... But this? This is much bigger than you, or I, or anything. Something is brewing, and we all need to be prepared... Don't tell me you haven't seen the signs."

The disembodied head disappeared from the fireplace for a moment, causing Harry's heart to drop. Relaxing only slightly as it re-appeared, he held his breath at the blonde's grim expression. "Of course we've seen the signs. We've a great bloody hurricane trying to tear the country to its foundation. And the aurors are being flooded with cases of possession and malignant spirits. Nearly seven possessions in the last five months, and twelve cases of poltergeists attacking muggles."

Sighing heavily, Draco's forehead creased in thought. "You're certain it's an angel, not a trick?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Harry fidgeted, growing irritated with the doubt from the Malfoy. Not that he hadn't every reason. His ears perked as another sigh was pulled from the other man. "Alright... I'll talk to Severus and see if I can't get any information from him or Dumbledore. I won't promise results, but I'll call once I know... Is this an open connection?"

"No, but I can make it so for a short while. A few hours, at most. You'll want to be extremely careful; this is a hunter's home. I'd hate to see you filled with rock salt rounds."

Rolling his eyes, Draco scoffed. "I wouldn't expect much else from your lot. Just keep it open. I've got you in the attic right now, so less risk of anyone stumbling across it... Don't get yourself killed over there, Harry."

Before much else could be said, the blonde withdrew, signaling the end of the conversation. Harry stared at the green flames blankly for a long moment, lost in brooding thought. Only Dean stomping into the house roused him. The older hunter was caked with grease and grime, open long-neck in hand, and oil rag hanging from his back pocket. Pausing a moment to observe him, Harry could pick out the stress lines and tension. Dean was not 'fine' by any means, but there was little for it.

Withdrawing his wand from the holster, the movement drew Dean's attention. He blinked warily at the merrily crackling green flames, looking confused. For a moment, Harry would have said the confounded expression was cute on him. Clearing his throat uncomfortably at the strange thought, he motioned towards the fire, speaking up for the hunter's benefit.

"This is called a 'floo connection'. Consider it a type of phone with the added benefit of instantaneous travel across distance. I've a friend who will be contacting me shortly with some information. The flames will flair oddly, and a head will appear. Rather disconcerting to see at first, but I assure you it's perfectly normal for wizards, and it _is _a living wizard attached to the head. Don't shoot them until you know their intent."

Nose crinkled, Dean mouthed some of the words, looking even more confused. Finally, he settled on a shrug. "Whatever, man. Freaky ESP thing is yours and Sam's deal, not mine. Just make sure they don't glitter on the rug or Bobby'll have your hide."

Regarding Dean silently for a moment, the hunter twitched, looking uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He sounded tired and worn down despite the nap in the car. Shaking his head slowly, Harry turned his attention back to the fire, poking his wand into the embers, he muttered quiet words to keep the single connection open. The spell would stabilize the two-way connection, ensuring it would not close, and guarding it from outside magical tampering. Only someone inside Grimmauld Place would be able to use it.

The Winchester settled himself heavily onto the couch, one of the few spaces clear of books in the sitting room. Uncomfortable silence reigned for several minutes. Finally Dean growled quietly and broke the stilted atmosphere. The topic made Harry sigh.

"You never answered my question. Before, I mean. Why are you so intent on helping us? You don't even know us."

"Because... I was friends with your dad. He taught me a lot about hunting. I wouldn't feel right leaving his children to twist in the wind."

Dean leaned forward, frown in place. He looked as if to argue something, before the look drained away and he relaxed back into the cushions. Looking far older than his thirty years at the moment, Harry let him be, until he spoke up quietly.

"What... what was he like? With you, I mean." A bitter smile crossed his lips. "Seems like everyone but Sam and I knew him."

Shaking his head, Harry allowed a small quirk of his lips. What was Dean expecting? To hear of his father's balls of steel, and iron will? The thought made him both amused and unsettled. Why on earth had he been thinking so oft about male anatomy? Coughing quietly while gathering his thoughts, Harry shrugged, brushing a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

"He was a control freak. Set in his ways unless you almost literally beat new ideas into his skull. He had his moments elsewise. If he thought he was right about something, he could be a bull-headed son of a bitch, but he was always quick to admit it if he were wrong. Bloody brilliant tactician... He got us out of quite a few sticky situations. Taught me that there are more ways to go about things than sheer brutality if you find yourself cornered."

Pausing to wet his lips, Harry snagged a long since forgotten beer from the desk, leaning against it as he took a drink. Mulling it over in his own mind, there was a sense of sad fondness involved with speaking of the deceased hunter. He could only figure it was worse for Dean.

"He was always rather quick to admit his own faults, if confronted about them. Though he did have the annoying habit of bottling it all up until it exploded. Usually in bars... He had a good sense of humor. Though it wasn't often he genuinely laughed."

Sighing quietly, Harry shifted over to slump to the other end of the couch. Dean listened with rapt interest, an almost hungry expression on his face. The wizard could understand, from what he had heard. The Winchester boys only knew their father's habits from growing up. They likely hadn't the opportunity or inclination to see past the parental haze, made all the worse by John's hunter status.

"... He was a good man. But he was as human as they come. John was one of the only friends I had, besides Bobby and Ellen."

Any response to the words was cut short as the fire flared, startling them both into reaching for their weapons. Though Harry quickly waved Dean away as a cursing figure stepped from the coals, recognizing the hair. He was shocked that Draco came all the way through as opposed to just chatting. Until he caught sight of the object he carried. The book was large, and looked heavy, even Draco grimaced as he tossed it carelessly onto Bobby's desk.

"Don't say I have never done anything for you, Harry."

He paused, turning his attention to Dean with a raised eyebrow, vague sneer attempting to crawl onto his lips. "Really... the American Ministry has really let themselves go, haven't they. I've always been curious to meet a hunter just to see... But how rude of me, I'm Draco Malfoy."

Dean still had a freaked out look at the strange entrance, but quickly shook it off. "Hey... I'm Dean." They shook hands, satisfying Harry's caution enough to turn his back on them. Looking over the book, he was slightly put-out.

"A Bible? I could have stolen one from a hotel for the trouble."

Draco finally did sneer, the expression comforting to Harry in its familiarity. He had a look reminiscent of the ones Hermione used to get while explaining information which she thought Harry and the rat should have already been aware of. The Winchester looked a bit off-put by Draco's bearing, but Harry was not much concerned for him at the moment.

"This is no mere Bible. For your information it is The Bible." Harry stared blankly, unimpressed by the implied capitals. The look of annoyance deepened on Draco's face. "It is the original Bible, written during the events it speaks of. Not the watered down tripe the muggles gobble up like children at a magic show."

Even Dean looked mildly impressed by the proclamation. Harry still did not quite understand what was so important about it, until he spared a thought past the religious connotations. Angels were prominent beings in the Bible, or so he had heard... and this was perhaps the oldest Bible in existence that anyone knew about. Staring at it in a whole new light, Harry felt like kissing Draco. As if sensing the intention, the blonde held his hands up.

"Don't look too excited, Potter. If you'd have looked past your own nose during school, you may have thought of this sooner. Wizards aren't a religious lot, but some enjoy a good history lesson. As I recall, this was usually right next to Hogwarts a History at Flourish and Blotts."

A sense of irritation flooded through Harry at the condescending tone, though it quickly faded as he realized that Draco was correct. Deflating a bit, he slumped back onto the couch with a sigh, rubbing his face. Dean seemed to take pity on him, though did not help Harry's building headache.

"Hey, no need to sound so uppity, Mr. Fancy-Britches. We've had a lot of shit to deal with, so if you'd kindly see your way back through the faerie dust fireplace, thanks."

Knowing how Draco would take such words from a muggle, Harry hurriedly got back on his feet, moving to stand in the blonde's line of sight. He held out a hand in farewell. Glaring, it was accepted non the less. The last thing he needed was his last connection to the wizarding world upset at him for the company he kept.

"Thank you, mate. I'm sorry for Dean's attitude. Coming back from the dead takes lot from one's state of mind, I wager."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at that, craning his neck to glance at Dean over Harry's shoulder. He nodded minutely, some of the sting easing from his expression. The reaction was a relief. It was gratifying that he seemed to understand a bit better now, the type of stress they all were under.

"Right then, I'll be going. Scorpius is on the verge of a temper tantrum and mum has threatened my hide if I skip out on it again... Don't be getting yourself killed over here, Harry..."

He said the last with a far more serious expression than he had before. The hunter was a bit touched that he seemed to care. Despite their past pettiness, they had forged a type of friendship since the end of the war. He was glad it seemed to remain despite the years. He watched as Draco disappeared back through the connection, before withdrawing his wand again, waving it over the entire thing to close the link and set it back to its original size.

Dean, who had sat quietly through the exchange, blinked at seeing Bobby's fireplace suddenly shrink, though shrugged it off. The wizard heaved another sigh, drawing attention. "So, uh... nice guy... You, I don't know, wanna tell me why he's bringing you Bibles?"

The migraine came on full force. Harry figured he may as well bite the bullet, figuratively. Dean already knew of his involvement in his resurrection. What was one more piece of information to the fire? Draining his bottle of beer, he shrugged, walking over to leaf through the old book. He floundered a moment, as he realized that it really was set up rather like a history book. Not at all like the muggle Bible. Following a hunch, he opened the back pages and was grateful to discover an Index. The desire to track Draco down and kiss him returned.

He startled a bit from his perusal, as Dean cleared his throat rudely to get his attention. "Wha-? Oh, sorry." Harry quickly leafed to one of the pages regarding angels. "You found my ring by design... I think. A man approached me and claimed to be an angel, so I took a leap of faith."

Even he winced a bit at his own attempt at humor. Dean looked unamused, though he got a strange look, as if unsure of whether to laugh at the pun, or punch Harry's lights out. Thankfully he settled on simply crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. Harry waved him off.

"Desperate times. He came to me in my dreams first. Several times, trying to convince me. What finally did, was when he showed up for real. He knew about my visions, and claimed that they were tied to your deal. Didn't say why, but he kept insisting that I break it. That obviously failed."

Harry grimaced, staring more intently at the page, though not reading it. He had failed to break the Deal, and the Winchesters had suffered for it. Waving such thoughts away for now, Harry shrugged. "After you died, I returned to England... I was attempting to find a way of releasing your soul from Hell. He turned up again, this time to insist that he could get you out, but he needed my ring to do it."

Sucking in a deep breath and holding it, Harry waited for the question he knew would come. Dean did not disappoint. Letting out a low growl, he stalked forward, crowding Harry's space. The hunter bit back the instinctive urge to shove him away. He had issues with people crowding him with that type of expression on their face. Dean looked angry, fists clenched to his side.

"Why would an angel want, or even need, your ring?"

Clenching his jaw, Harry's own fists clenched in response. He stared Dean square in the eye, refusing to back down. To his surprise, it was Dean who backed away first, letting out a ragged sigh and holding his hands up in surrender. Reclaiming his seat on the couch, Harry had a moment to think. Wetting his lips, he shrugged.

"There are several highly powerful items accumulated in the wizarding world. Not just anyone is allowed to handle them... Most are kept within private collections, or within families. My ring is one of those items."

He held the ring up to the light, letting Dean see the details of it. "This ring possesses the ability to summon spirits from their rest. You could chat with a ghost before sending them back to heaven, or where ever they came from. It only works on souls that are not trapped to the earth, though."

The wheels in Dean's mind turned. Harry was shocked that his head did not explode from effort. At last, the Winchester gestured vaguely, grabbing for his beer with his other hand. "So... so that could have... brought my soul up from the pit?"

With some regret, Harry nodded, leaning against the desk and dropping his hand to rest on the book. "I tried... I did." Letting out a ragged sigh, he scrubbed a hand across his face. "I was in England checking into some information about the ring. It was not working with your soul, and I wanted to know why, so I could find a work around. But then the angel showed up claiming he could use it to get you out."

Strange look crossing his face, Dean stared at the wall for a moment. Letting the information sink in, Harry briefly turned his attention back to the book, leafing through the pages for any reference on calling an angel. He nearly jumped out of his skin when after several minute, Dean finally spoke up. The tone to his voice was enough to cause some alarm. The other hunter sounded distant, and haunted.

"You're not telling me everything."

Turning to face him again, his expression matched the tone. Shifting uncomfortably, Harry shrugged, trying to act natural. "Everything that's relevant."

Dean laughed, the noise causing Harry to repress a flinch. It was not a happy sound, nor one he ever wanted to hear again. Turning to face him once again, the expression matched, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. Gaze set unwaveringly on Harry, Dean looked as if he were not truly seeing the wizard for a moment. Finally, he shook his head, blinking and looking confused.

"There's something... I remember. Someone in the pit knew you. Didn't deserve to be there anymore than I did."

Harry felt as if he had been rammed in the gut. Dean had... seen... spoken to? Sirius while... His head swam for a moment from the overwhelming emotion such knowledge sparked. It showed plainly on his face, from the apologetic look the hunter shot him. Clearing his throat, and hopefully pressing down some of the feelings, Harry spoke carefully.

"Yours was not the only soul he went after... In return for use of the ring, he agreed to take my godfather's soul to heaven."

His voice was gruff, but suitably hid any pain from his tone. Dean wisely shut his trap, staring at the floor as he took a gulp from his bottle. Well versed in ignoring his own emotions on certain subjects, Harry moved on, returning to the pages and leafing through rapidly. He nearly missed it, pausing to blink before turning a page back. Squinting at the text, he smirked triumphantly. Here was his answer. Not in so many words, however the components for a summoning ritual were there, and he already knew the supposed angel's name. If he was indeed an 'angel of the lord', the spell would work.

Glancing over the ingredients, he frowned in concentration. He knew Bobby kept a great many strange things stocked around the house. Even 'mummified lambs tail', strangely enough. Reading down the page, and surrounding ones, he paused, frowning at the books size. Draco had said they were a dime a dozen in the wizarding world. Shrugging, he carefully tore the page from the book, garnering a raised eyebrow from Dean.

Ignoring the other hunter for the moment, Harry set about collecting the items, knowing where Bobby stashed most of it. He was aware of his shadow, as he made his way down to the basement. The panic room had been a brilliant design by the older hunter. The only flaw was the air vent on the ceiling, but it was necessary if they did not want occupants to suffocate to death, and served the dual purpose of a permanent Devil's Trap. Dean glanced around, letting out a quiet whistle.

"Wow... didn't know this was here..."

Shrugging, Harry went about setting up the ritual space, chalking arcane sigils onto the floor and setting out the offering bowl. "He had a weekend off, and I was bored. Three inch thick iron, with salt coating. Nothing evil gets in or out."

Dean boggled for a moment, pausing to leer at the poster. "You helped him build it?" Harry smirked a bit as he placed the 'passive' ingredients in the designated spots, using the page as a reference.

"Aye. Almost four years ago."

Silence encompassed the room as Harry continued his work, and Dean examined the various features. After a while, the other hunter spoke up, hovering over Harry's shoulder.

"Not that I'm dissing your rune-work, dude. But, ah, what are you doing?"

"We both want confirmation that we are dealing with an angel, yes? And we both want answers."

Harry handed him the page to read as he got into position within the small circle he had chalked. Cross-legged, he picked up a small tupperware of mixed herbs. A hand on his shoulder gave him pause, stopping just short of taking a pinch between his fingers.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You're going to summon an angel? An _angel._ Not that I buy into that crap, but what if it is?"

Shrugging the hand away, Harry sighed. "He didn't seem to want anyone dead. Proof enough he brought you back. If he is an angel, he'll be summoned here, and we can question him."

Glancing over his shoulder, he could tell that Dean was freaked out by the prospect. Admittedly, he was doing a decent job of hiding it, but his eyes were a bit wide, and he shuffled nervously. Sighing, Harry resumed his movement, taking a pinch of the herbs between his fingers.

"If it bothers you, the exit's behind you."

"No... just..."

"Good, be quiet, I need to concentrate."

Growling quietly, Dean non the less shut up. Such was a good thing, as Harry began intoning in a strange language, sprinkling the herbs over the offering bowl. Squinting intently at it, he waited for some sign that it had worked. It startled them both when the mixture in the bowl burst into flames. Jerking back and rolling to his feet, Harry withdrew his gun, satisfied to see that Dean had done the same.

Maneuvering so their backs were to each other, they waited with baited breath. Nothing happened. After several more tense seconds, Dean let out a strained laugh. "Guess it's not an angel after all, brit boy."

Turning to stare at him, Harry raised an eyebrow. "'Brit boy'? That's the only thing you can come up with, death breath?"

Dean looked a bit meek, shrugging. Harry turned back around, smirking as he glimpsed Dean letting out a puff of breath into the palm of his hand, checking his breath. It was not exactly minty fresh by Harry's standards. He admitted to some disappointment. The trickster had obviously done what tricksters do best, and the angel was not really an angel.

The train of thought halted, as a strong shiver ran through his frame, causing him to gasp. The noise drew Dean's attention, Harry waving him off as he looked concerned. Next came the prickling of his skin, like an electric current running over him. Spots danced before his eyes both literally and figuratively as the lights within the room shattered, pitching them into darkness save the overhead grate.

With great force, the door of the room was blown open, the metallic sound reverberating through them as it bounced off the wall. A one hundred pound door, bouncing, as if it were nothing more than a flimsy wooden frame. A figure stood outlined in the doorway, though it was impossible to make out features as the lights outside had suffered the same fate. Squinting past the afterimage, Harry swore for a fraction of a second, that he saw the shadow of wings at the figure's back.

The sound of Dean cocking his pistol pushed Harry to action, whipping around to grip his hand over Dean's to stop him from firing. The person at last stepped through the door, crossing the salt and iron with ease and ignoring the demon traps. The hair and coat remained the same, though even in the dim light, Harry could see that Castiel was a bit worse for wear from the last time he saw him. His head cocked to the side as he stared Harry down. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Harry did not think he looked too pleased.

"Why have you summoned me?"

With such a reception, Harry was at a loss for words. Quite honestly had did not really have a plan, past getting Castiel there. Thinking upon it, he decided the most straightforward, the better. Sparing a glance at Dean, he could see that the hunter was freaked out. Registering that his hand still covered Dean's, he pressed down firmly until the gun was lowered to his side. His touch lingered a moment past strictly necessary, but Harry refused to ponder it.

"We want answers. You fulfilled our bargain and then split. Why do you lot want Dean back in the game?"

Castiel's lips pursed. It was difficult to tell an emotion, but Harry figured it was annoyance. Perhaps a bit of real anger. The thought made him nervous, but he stood his ground. He had dealt with more dangerous things than an angry angel. Try dealing with Ginevra Weasley during her time of the month.

"What he said." Dean finally put his two cents in. Castiel's gaze finally snapped to Dean, giving Harry a sense of relief. That stare was vaguely unsettling, as the angel did not seem to have the need to blink.

"It is... good to see you again, Dean."

The same response he had given Harry the first time he appeared. It sparked a nagging curiosity. But business first. Dean was likewise not deterred for long.

"Yeah, nice to see you too. Why don't you answer the question."

There it was, that strange head tilt, as if processing the words. "I brought you back because I was ordered to. Because we have work for you."

That sounded ominous. Harry and Dean exchanged a look, both thinking the same thing. The other hunter scrubbed a hand over his face, nodding for Harry to take over. He licked his lips, mind working furiously. Abruptly, he returned Castiel's stare with one of his own. The stoic look melted away to one of puzzlement as he observed Harry, squinting slightly, as if attempting to glimpse something beyond the obvious.

"Does this have anything to do with a type of seal?"

The angel's forehead creased, puzzled look deepening for a moment, before at last, he nodded. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Call it a hunch."

Considering the way the trickster's dream ended, Harry was not exactly comfortable telling anyone quite yet. Least of all an angel. Someone, or something, had not wanted the trickster in Harry's mind. Dean finally got his wits together, stepping up beside Harry and glaring at the angel.

"What seals?"

"There are six hundred and sixty six seals... You must stop Lilith from destroying sixty-six of them."

"Or what?"

Castiel paused, getting a distant look. The crawling of Harry's skin sharpened for a moment, nearly to all out pain. Gritting his teeth, he tensed, fighting not to react. He only half succeeded, as Dean shot him a mildly concerned look. He shook his head tensely, waving him off. At last, Castiel responded, bringing their attention back to the real matter.

"If sixty-six of the seals are broken, Lucifer will rise."

Harry's eyes widened in recognition of the trickster's words. Lucifer. Satan. The Devil. Even he knew that iconic name. Castiel nodded slowly, as if in response to his thoughts.

"You must stop it."

The words echoed the very same he had claimed to Harry, when guilt tripping him into trying to break Dean's deal. The memory prompted Harry to bear his teeth, startling Dean into taking a step back, as the brunet practically oozed righteous fury. The wizard managed to stop himself from actually physically moving against the angel, but it was a near thing as his fists clenched at his sides.

"Are you actually going to bloody well tell us what the hell to do this time? Or are you going to sit back on your ass actin' like the goddamned blameless saint?"

The itching of his skin with the proximity only served to fuel and irritate him, fanning the flames in his gut. The angel dared to ask _anything _of the like from Harry and the Winchesters again, after the royal cluster-fuck such had caused last time? Like hell. Harry learned his lesson the hard way one too many times. He was not about to lift a finger, unless the angel agreed to help them.

To his credit, even Castiel seemed slightly startled by the reaction, blinking slowly while regarding Harry with a solemn frown. His gaze slowly traveled over Harry's form, squinting slightly, as if looking at something that only he could see. Lips pursing again, he returned his stare after a moment.

"I was ordered to stand down. I would have helped if I were allowed."

A sneer worked its way onto Harry's lips which would have put the Malfoys to shame. "If your little crusade to 'save the Winchesters' really was for the 'greater good', why the hell would an order stop you?"

Surprisingly, it was Dean who spoke up, inching back over to Harry and carefully placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, dude, calm down. I'm just as pissed about all this as you are. I died. But... can't believe I'm saying this, we should keep a cool head about this."

The touch calmed Harry a bit, enough to draw in a deep breath and let it out in a ragged growl. Thinking on Dean's words, he sighed, shrugging off the hand before storming over to take a seat in the rickety old chair by the tables. The other hunter was right. Harry should not be so worked up over something like this, when it was Dean himself who had the right. Dragging his hand over his face, he shuddered, the crawling sensation not helping his calming process.

"He has every right to be angry. I had no right to ask of him what I did."

Glancing back and forth between Harry and Castiel, the wizard knew when the pieces fell into place. "It was _you_? _You _asked him to mop up my mess? You're a grade A dick, you know that."

Castiel bowed his head slightly, though his expression did not change, it could be construed as a show of regret. It was something, at least. "It was an error in judgment. This is different. I have been given leave to assist you in any way that I can."

Another squinted gaze was directed at Harry, as he scratched at his own arm in an attempt to alleviate the crawling sensation. The puzzled expression returned, and the angel took a step closer to Harry. The proximity caused Harry to grind his teeth to keep from making an audible noise of discomfort.

"My presence causes you pain."

Dean looked alarmed, peering at Harry over Castiel's shoulder. "Dude, are witches unholy or something?"

It was Castiel who answered for him. "Wizards are my father's creations. No different than other humans. This is something else."

He took another step closer. Harry let out a strangled note of pain, curling up in the chair and pressing himself against the backrest. The angel stood mere feet from him now. The puzzled look slowly evaporating into one of surprised understanding. Perhaps the most emotion Castiel had shown since they had met. Closing his eyes, he seemed to concentrate for a moment. Ever so slowly, the pain dissipated, the tingling sensation along with it.

Letting out a ragged breath of relief, Harry slowly uncurled, staring at Castiel with wide-eyes. "What the hell was that?"

Opening his eyes, the stoic expression was back, making the hunters exchange a look. Neither were quite expecting an actual response.

"My grace. He can sense it."

Dean blinked, leaning forward and cupping his ear in an over exaggerated manner. "Come again?"


	14. Old Red

"Why is it, exactly, that I can feel your... 'grace' now and never before?"

Castiel frowned at Harry for the question. The wizard was already beginning to hate the 'non-expressions' the angel tended to take. They gave away nothing on his thoughts. They had relocated themselves upstairs after the shock had worn off. Harry lay resting on the couch, while Dean leaned against the desk and Castiel stood in the center of the sitting room.

"You have felt it before. Simply not as strong. Being summoned in such a way did not allow time to mask my aura as I had done before in your presence."

Harry had the grace to shrug, but not look apologetic at the excuse. "I tried 'praying' or however it is one gets in contact with one of you lot."

The angel actually looked perhaps a touch perturbed. "I did attempt to contact you."

It was Dean who connected the dots, eyes narrowing in anger as he subconsciously rubbed at an ear. "That was you? Well, thanks a lot pal. Nearly blew out our ear drums!"

The blue gaze was directed at the older hunter. "I apologize." He certainly did not look it. "Certain humans possess the ability to withstand our true voice. I thought that you two would be so."

"Obviously not." Harry's own tone made him pause. He really did need to stop emulating the Malfoys. Heaving a sigh, he rolled to a sitting position on the couch, deciding to get down to business. Dean beat him to it before he could even open his mouth. The hunter did seem a bit defensive about the entire affair, but Harry could understand. It had not been him who had been sent to the pit.

"How did you bring me back?"

Castiel tilted his head quizzically. "The ring." He said it with inflection enough that they understood that they were being called 'idiots'. Harry had to marvel even as he bristled at the non-answer. He knew no one who could actually express emotion without changing their tone of voice or expression. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he heaved another sigh.

"We know you used the ring. But why did you need it in the first place?"

There was a note of surprise. It was a start. Castiel peered at him for a long moment, obviously confused. "You have not figured it out yet." It was as if some realization dawned before their eyes. He took a step closer, and Harry winced on instinct. Certainly he had no wish to ever feel Castiel's grace again. It had been bordering on the cruciatus curse towards the end. Either the angel did not see the reaction, or he did not care.

"Use the ring."

Harry's eyes widened, and he spared a look at Dean. The older hunter looked to be at the end of his rope. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the angel. "No." _'Not while he's here_' was left unsaid, but Castiel seemed to get the message, unimpressed by it though he appeared to be.

"If you do not use the ring, you will never know... I am unable to tell you."

Tilting his head to the side, Castiel stared intently at Harry for a minute, making the hunter uncomfortable. His heart seized up at the next words, "Sirius Black sends his regards."

They blinked, and the angel was gone. Overcoming the shock quickly, being more used to it than Dean, Harry got to his feet and paced restlessly, catching the other hunter's attention. "What did he mean? About the ring. And 'Sirius Black'? Sounds like some cheesy pornstar name. Though it does ring a few bells."

Pausing to glare, Harry could not stop a slightly amused smirk from crossing his lips. He rubbed at his five o'clock shadow contemplatively. "I'm sure he would thank you for the compliment, if he were able... Sirius was my godfather. He was also a wanted fugitive, I wouldn't be surprised if news of it reached even this far."

"As far as the ring..." Harry shook his head slowly. "You do not want to be here when I use it."

Dean squinted at him, looking annoyed. "Why not? It yanked my soul out of hell, I'm sure I could handle seeing a happy ghost."

Trust a Winchester to oversimplify the situation. Harry let out a sigh, sitting back down. "The ring has caused more than one man to go insane. Speaking with a dead loved one face to face... Well, I'm sure you remember Milan."

The reminder caused Dean to grimace as if in physical pain. The wizard nearly felt sorry for it, but he refused. He figured the hunter would know that the ring was not a toy, but a rehash of such was never out of order. Even Dumbledore had not been strong enough to withstand the lure. The only saving grace for Harry the single time he had used it to such a purpose, was the fact that he had never known his parents enough to grow truly attached.

Dean shuffled awkwardly, clearing his throat as if to say something. They were interrupted by the sound of Sam stomping down the stairs. The Winchester looked curiously relieved, and annoyed to see his brother, though hid it quickly when the behemoth came into view. Sam shot them a confused look at seeing them so alert.

"Did something happen?"

The older Winchester moved to shake his head, but Harry stomped out any notion. Sam had a right to know, seeing as how he was involved. Though, of course he would leave out the part about the ring, for now. He hoped Dean had the presence of mind for likewise.

"An angel just paid us a visit."

The incredulous look on Sam would have been amusing, if it had been a joke. Sharing a glance with Dean, the other hunter's eyes narrowed dangerously at Harry's apologetic look. The glare in Dean's eyes promised a world of hurt if the smaller man left him to deal with Sam alone. Suppressing a grin, Harry twitched a shoulder in a subtle shrug, turning back to face Sam. The man had not been oblivious to the easy exchange, though not certain what it meant. He actually looked a touch jealous. Harry could understand that. The whole non-verbal speaking thing would have been his and Dean's deal previous. The wizard did not entirely understand the sudden camaraderie either.

"I'll let Dean explain. I need to take care of something."

So long as Dean did not blow the entire thing, Harry had every intention of going to the edge of the yard to use the ring. There was no way he was going to summon Sirius' spirit with others around. He did not trust his own emotions not to get the better of him. The angel had been giving him a message, and he wanted to know what and why. Making himself scarce, he nearly ran once he was out of the house, weaving his way past stacks of cars and scrap metal.

He only halted once he was faced with a fence, the house no longer visible. Car stacks surrounded him on three sides, giving him an illusion of security. Far more nervous than he should have been, Harry swallowed thickly as he removed the ring. Could he honestly cope with it? Sirius was different than his parents. More tangible, in that he had known the man and loved him as an older brother and uncle rolled into one.

Heaving a weary sigh, he closed his eyes, the weight of the ring feeling like lead in his hand. Holding it carefully between his fingers, he concentrated on the image of Sirius he had known and loved, hesitating, but eventually turning the ring three times. At first, nothing happened, and with some disappointment, Harry pushed the ring back on. Maybe whatever Castiel had done with the ring had broken it, or something. Turning to trudge his way back to the house, he let out an audible gasp as he came nose to chest with a transparent being.

Moisture gathered in his eyes, as he caught his first glimpse of his godfather in twelve years. For a moment, his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. As with everything else, that wound had never actually healed. A thought entered his mind, which was both inappropriate and hilarious given the circumstances. Looking Sirius over, he could not hold in the comment,

"You look good for a dead guy."

It was the truth. Despite the translucence to his being, faded color registered through. His skin looked healthy and pink, unlike the paleness which had settled over him prior to his death. Eyes shining, he appeared unstressed, the lines from life vanished in lieu of peace. Currently, he gazed at Harry with some surprise, though there were hints of sadness warring with laughter at the comment.

"The same could be said of you, pup. Your parents said you called them, just before..."

Letting out a quiet sigh, he nodded. "I died that day. But something brought me back."

"Not surprising... You're made of tougher stuff than that, Harry. Moldywarts couldn't do you in as a babe, why break the trend... That doesn't settle your current angel issues, though."

Quirking an eyebrow at him, Harry shrugged, not believing that he had anything to do with his own resurrection. The deceased Black obviously caught the look, but shrugged it off. "Listen, this angel business? It's deadly serious. Whatever you do, you need to be on your guard around them... Even the one who rescued me."

"I get that. What I don't entirely get is why this involves the Winchesters."

The talk of 'business' eased Harry's mental state a bit, hunter instincts kicking in to suppress any distress about the person standing in front of him. His godfather seemed to hold a similar opinion, as he pushed personal matters aside. "I... can't say for sure. Not without them finding out."

That explained everything. Heaven being the angel's domain, obviously they may have ways of keeping tabs on the spirits there. The news clarified some of Castiel's wariness at outright telling them anything. His ears perked as Sirius spoke up again.

"Listen, kid... this is huge... and not just angels and demons... Wizard war type big."

A civil war? Peering at Sirius, the spirit nodded slowly, confirming the unspoken question. "You make a few friends up here. Met a bloke calling himself 'Ash'. Bloody brilliant. He stumbled into my heaven and tried getting in on some of the action-"

Curiously, Sirius cut himself off abruptly, blushing brightly at whatever he thought he let slip. Harry could not help but grin. "A friend of mine said yours sounded like an porn star name. I take it he wasn't far off?"

The spirit coughed, blushing even more and looking uncomfortable. Harry at last took pity on him, waving him off. "Ash you said? Wouldn't happen to have a bad haircut, scrawny fellow who likes cheap beer and computers?"

At Sirius' curious nod, Harry sighed sadly. "Least he's happier... I knew him." He explained, "He died last year. Demons."

Nodding slowly, the apparition smiled sadly. "It really is a better place up here, Harry. I won't be forgetting Hell for a while... but I found Mooney, and your mum and dad. Everyone, really. Technically I don't think we're supposed to be able to... 'hop clouds', as Ash put it, but he showed us how, and no angels have commented. 'Sides... rules are made to be broken."

Some of the Marauder-ish gleam shined in Sirius' eyes. He really was enjoying the new challenges Heaven presented; Harry could tell. It eased some of the ache from his heart. Allowing a sad smile to creep onto his lips, he chuckled.

"Give 'em hell for me... And tell them... I miss them."

'Them' referring to his parents, Remus, and everyone else he had lost during the war. The thought made him blink, "Have you found Dumbledore?"

The conversation was surreal. They were chatting as if they were merely separated by distance, not a true barrier. Philosophically, Harry figured the distance analogy was more true than anything. It felt as if they were merely on a Members Only island, and that if he could simply 'join the club', he could see them again. Said club was not one he intended to join without a fight, however. Sirius simply shook his head, looking a bit irritated for a moment.

"No. I asked Ash if he could ask around, but Albus is nowhere to be found so far. Heaven is massive though. And you've got paradise sharing. Some souls share the same 'space'. Like your mum and dad." He explained, at Harry's raised eyebrow. "Makes it a bit more difficult to track down individuals."

Certainly made sense to Harry, in a confusing sort of way. He never did buy into the thought of heaven as some massive cloud-scape where all the souls loitered around drinking martinis and wine while Saint Peter handed out party favors. Startling in alarm, Harry felt a mass of fear coil through him as Sirius' form wavered. His godfather looked pained for a moment, before sighing.

"I'm being called back. Looks like I was missed. It stings." Sirius winced, rubbing his chest. He gazed at Harry solemnly, causing even more dismay in the younger man.

"Listen, whatever happens, stay strong. If it's the winged poufs tugging me back, I might not be responding to any summons... But I'm not about to be pushed around. I love you, pup."

In a blink, he was gone. The loss caused a hollowness to replace the fear and sadness. What had he done, by contacting Sirius? What if the angels cast him back into Hell for helping him? Drawing in a shaky breath, Harry let it out slowly, steadying himself. If Castiel showed his face again, the hunter would demand confirmation of Sirius' continued well being, as it were. Not that he really had any leverage, if the angels decided to do anything.

Feeling as calm as he could given the talk, Harry slowly made his way back to the house. Bobby's car sat parked next to the Impala out back, at least giving the wizard some relief to his various worries. For all of a minute, he soon discovered. A loud argument was going on in the library, as he crept in through the back door. Obviously Sam was not taking something well. They did not seem to be in true distress, so Harry took his sweet time, sneaking past the partially ajar door and into the kitchen.

To his surprise, Bobby sat at the desk-turned-table, nursing a beer and reading over the bible Draco had furnished. He glanced up as Harry finally let up on some of his stealth, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You sure took your sweet time. Not that I blame ya. Those two have been at it since I got back."

"What about?" Harry snagged a new beer from the fridge, loath to enter the library for what was left of his last one. The older hunter looked tired, rubbing at an eye while squinting at the pages. "Oh, nothin'. They babbled something about angels, and Dean gave me this book. I'm assuming it's yours. They fell into an angst fest, so I made myself scarce."

Rubbing a hand over his face, Harry hoisted himself to sit on the counter. The older hunter shot him a concerned look. "Heard some of what you got up to while I was gone. Care to share?"

Explaining the situation to Bobby was easy. The older man kept quiet, neutral expression in place as Harry spoke. The younger hunter was relieved to have him back, as his cool head and outside observation was something to value on topics of high stress. The only hitch came when Harry attempted to speak of his meeting with Sirius. It was not simply an emotional topic, as much as, he almost wished to keep it secret, despite the information. The matters discussed had been largely private.

"I... used the ring. Castiel fulfilled the bargain."

Leaving it at that for now, Bobby shrugged and did not pursue a deeper explanation. The raised tones from the library eventually trailed off, leaving the house in silence. Harry almost wondered if one of the Winchesters had not killed the other. Both hunters startled slightly as Sam stormed into the room, making a beeline for the refrigerator and a beer. He seemed oblivious to them in his distress, blushing and hovering awkward when he realized he had an audience. Jerking his head towards the door, he explained tersely.

"Dean's being an ass."

Bobby snorted, "Ain't back from Hell for more'n a day and you're surprised?"

The younger Winchester heaved a tired sigh, pushing his hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, I'm glad he's back. That's all that really matters. Just... unfinished business, and all that."

Switching his attention to Harry, the wizard shifted his weight uncomfortably at the soulful look directed at him. Sam was damn creepy when he was trying to incite 'chick flick' moments.

"Harry, my brother told me that you... that you helped bring him back. Thank you."

Fighting not to roll his eyes, Harry swore that if the Sasquatch tried hugging him he'd donkey kick him. The war veteran was all for camaraderie, but less so on male to male bonding with demon-boy. The thought was unfair, but accurate, from what he had seen of the younger man. Self-sacrificing hero-complex aside, Sam was serving his own ends. The dreams had shown him much about the Winchesters. If there was anything Harry had learned over the years, the road to hell was paved with good intentions, and the younger man was swimming in those.

They all froze as a faint scratching sound came from the front door. It almost sounded like... a dog? Harry and Bobby at least were familiar with the noise from Rumsfeld, before the demon bitch killed him. Sam looked confused, as both Harry and Bobby drew their guns, creeping towards the door. They did not have to speak, getting points across with glances and gestures. Harry fell in out of sight beside the door, while Bobby peered out through the window.

He shook his head minutely, not seeing anything. Exchanging a look, Harry shot a warning glance at Sam when he moved to speak. The non-commotion drew Dean's attention, sending him into immediate alert and drawing his own pistol at seeing them so tense, padding quietly over to take the other side of the door from Harry. Raising an eyebrow, he received identical headshakes. Drawing in a deep breath, Bobby hid his gun beside his leg, out of sight, shooting the other hunters a look as he carefully unbolted the door.

They all tensed in preparation for an attack. A quiet 'woof' greeted them from beyond the threshold. Bobby looked surprised, prompting Harry and Dean to peer around the jam. A coyote straight from Harry's dream stood on the doormat, tongue lolling out as it panted happily at them. It seemed to grin as it spotted Harry, though it could have simply been a trick of the mind. Not trusting it, Harry squinted as he fished a flask of holy water from his pocket, nudging past Bobby to upturn the contents over the canine's snout.

The other men stared at him strangely as the coyote merely sneezed. Staring the beast down, Harry shrugged. There was no need to throw caution to the wind just because it was an animal. Kneeling down, Harry gathered a couple pinches of salt from the line, sprinkling them over the canine's fur. It 'woofed' at him, jumping up to lick his face. Harry grimaced, pulling away and fighting the knee-jerk reaction to shoot it for the sudden move. Bobby snorted quietly.

"Skinwalker?"

The coyote groaned, rolling over to expose his belly. It was obviously quite proudly male. Harry grimaced at the display, but could not resist rubbing its belly. The Winchesters looked uncomfortably at each other behind Harry's back, obviously arguing by their minute change of postures. Finally Dean outright spoke.

"Dude, I'm not cutting a dog."

"Coyote." Sam corrected, "We wouldn't have to actually hurt it."

The coyote wrinkled its nose and sneezed, rolling back to its feet and cocking its head at them. The further display of intelligence put Harry on edge. Withdrawing his belt knife, Harry pressed it threateningly against the dog's neck. It didn't react, beyond craning its head to lick his knuckles. Letting out a quiet sigh, the wizard withdrew the knife. He figured a shape changer would react more strongly to a threat from a silver knife.

Staring the beast down, Harry cocked his own head, bearing his teeth slightly. The dog barked, jumping up to lick his chin, and nearly overbalancing him. Grunting, the wizard kept his balance by dropping to both knees. Bobby scratched his head, unsettled by the entire affair.

"Could be someones pet. Halfbreeds ain't uncommon."

"What do we do with it. It's not like we can put up fliers about an illegal pet."

The older hunter removed his cap, fidgeting with it. "I could do some askin' around. I know a couple people who keep 'em and wolves. He seems domesticated."

As if to illustrate, the coyote sat on its haunches calmly, licking its snout and waiting patiently for attention. The little act did not sit well with Harry, despite the other hunters' seeming acceptance of it being someone's lost pet. Dean shot him a confused look as he muttered 'Christo' under his breath.

"Dude, it's just a dog. Ain't the anti-christ. You've been on the job too long."

Cheerfully flipping Dean the bird over his shoulder, Harry sighed, getting to his feet. "With everything that's been going on, better safe than dead."

The comment sobered them up. The coyote yipped quietly, inching forward to nuzzle Harry's leg. He remained unmoved by the action, fighting the urge to pet it. "Go on, get out of here."

He nudged the animal with his foot. It refused to budge. Sam muffled a quiet laugh. "I think he likes you."

Bobby took pity, at Harry's annoyed glance. "Yeah, well, it ain't coming inside." He turned to go back inside, pausing. "And I ain't taking care of it."

The dog seemed just as happy to cuddle against Harry's leg, drooling on his boot. Staring at it, Harry raised an eyebrow. Testing a theory, he commented at it, "I'm calling you Loki." It panted, seeming to grin as it ignored him.

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**Note**: On that short side, I know. I've been busy seeing to job training at the like irl.


	15. Crazy Train

The entire house held their breaths the next day, peeking out the windows to see where the coyote had gone to. With mixed feelings, they were relieved to see that the canine had wandered off in the night. Harry had to wonder if it really was just a stray hybrid after all. There was no time to dwell on it, however, as Bobby brought the news that something might be going on with one of his hunter friends. Olivia Lowry was a name only vaguely known to Harry. He knew that she specialized in demonic possession, but that was all.

Opting to stay behind while the other three went to check on her, Harry sighed quietly as he allowed himself a couple moments of pure relaxation. Bobby didn't keep the cleanest house, but the bathrooms were maintained enough for him to feel safe taking a bath. Checking the salt lines as he made his way to the guest wash room upstairs, Harry felt no qualms about stripping down in Sam's and Dean's room. Spiteful though the small act was, he could not help but be a little bit peeved that the brothers had taken his normal spot.

It was a medium sized room, with two twin beds. Not comfortable for a normal sized male, but they were cozy for Harry. This room was meant to be the master bedroom of the house, with its own connecting wash closet, however Bobby had chosen to take one of the smaller rooms after his wife died. The wizard couldn't blame the man. All in all, it made a decent place to crash for stray hunters who were in the area without lodging. Ellen had a similar set-up at the Roadhouse before it was destroyed.

The sink was less than pleasant to look at, what with the tooth paste smeared on the rim, but Harry ignored it in favor of the large tub situated next to a shower stall. The porcelain tub was old, and claw-footed, though no less sturdy for its age. He knew that Bobby chose durability over fancy new gadgets for his home, and fully approved. Turning the faucet on and stopping the drain, Harry wandered over to the mirror. Gazing back was a man that he found himself hard-pressed to recognize.

The shadows under his eyes had not faded, nor the paleness of his skin. Shaggy black hair hung around his shoulders limply, only serving to cast his features in a dark light. The almost-beard was not helping the image. He likened his own appearance at the moment to Sirius' after escaping Azkaban. Tentatively lifting a fringe away from his forehead, Harry squinted at the faded scar. It was barely noticeable after all these years. The only reason others would recognize him from his past self, was if they placed his eyes and hair.

Sighing again, he felt the slightest bit evil, as he snagged an unused razor from Dean's carrying case. Shaving took longer than intended, however it allowed the tub to fill to a desirable level. He didn't bother cleaning up after himself as he set the razor on the counter, preferring to leave it to one of the Winchesters. When he finally eased himself into the tub, he let out a groan of pleasure at the piping hot water soothing away the tension. He had been wound tight as a piano wire ever since Dean died. After the drama of Illinois, it seemed like a good time to recuperate while he could.

Several minutes passed as he simply basked in the warmth, until at last, he grudgingly set to scrubbing the accumulated grime from his person. His hair posed the most annoying task, needing to wash it out twice before he was satisfied that it was as clean as it was going to get. The water was murky with dirt, causing his nose to crinkle. With some regret, he hauled himself out and dried off, wrapping the towel around his waist as he made his way back into the bedroom.

He heard the front door open downstairs, but paid it no mind. A quick glance out the window revealed that Bobby was back, sans Winchesters. Reaching for his boxers and undershirt, he froze abruptly as goose bumps spread across his skin, frame shivering as cold air radiated at his back. Mouth set in a grim line, Harry altered his movement to reach for his gun. Pain exploded in his back as something hit him, knocking him to the bed. Scrambling for the gun, he grunted as something tugged at his body, sending him crashing into the opposite wall, and holding him there.

His breath was choked from him, the energy squeezing and cutting off oxygen as it forced his face to look at his attacker. His heart stopped for a beat, and overwhelming anguish threatened to pull him under. Standing before him, was a faded figure, that he knew painfully well. Tall, and proud, Cedric Diggory looked just the same as he had the night he died. His normally friendly, and open, expression was replaced with one of utter hatred. Of all the people Harry had gotten killed in his lifetime... he had never forgiven himself for Cedric. The boy hadn't deserved to die, nor did he have loyalty to Harry, to piss it all away as others had.

"You killed me, Harry. You just stood there, and watched, as that nutter used the curse."

A commotion could be heard downstairs, and dimly, Harry heard Bobby shout for him. The lack of oxygen made his head swim, His fingers curled into a tight fist as he struggled to think, to harness his own power into the ring. It was difficult to focus, with Cedric spewing accusations and blame at him, as he knew that every word was true. Relief shuddered through him as at last, the power flared, making him gasp for air as the ghost abruptly vanished. What in the hell was going on?

"Bobby!" No answer was forthcoming, even after he caught his breath to yell. Scrambling to his feet, Harry grabbed the gun from where it had fallen by the bed, and stumbled out onto the landing. He was vaguely thankful that his towel had stayed in place throughout the encounter. The stairs were iffy, with his vision still seeing spots, but he managed without breaking his neck. The house was unnaturally quiet now, though clearly Harry could see Bobby's car keys laying on the kitchen table.

Worry surged, but common sense won out. Grabbing up a bag of rock salt, Harry sprinted to the library, pulling up short as he came face to face with the ghost. Gritting his teeth, he didn't hesitate as he brought the gun to bear, firing off an iron round. Wasting no more time once the form dissipated, sweat beaded between his shoulder blades as he poured the salt out into a circle. The air was unbelievably cold, telling him that it wouldn't be long before Cedric reformed.

As if on cue, a voice hissed from behind, "You were the one who told me to take the cup with you. If you hadn't, I would still be alive!"

Harry rolled his eyes, regarding the ghostly figure with some annoyance, now that the shock had worn off. "Me, me, me. Is that all you ghosts ever think of? Did you ever stop to think that maybe I had no clue what the fuck I was doing back then? I was only a kid! And it's not as if I was plotting your demise with full knowledge of what the bloody hell was going to happen."

Cedric's face contorted into an ugly scowl, bringing his hands up to attack the barrier. It was useless, until a faint breeze began trickling through the room. The particles began to erode, making Harry curse loudly. Reacting on instinct, Harry gathered power to the ring, darting forward and touching Cedric's forehead. He let out a piercing howl of rage and agony as the power flashed, stumbling back as if struck. To Harry's shock and horror, his form only wavered briefly. The ghost rubbed his forehead as if pained, but did not remain phased for long.

The wizard thought he glimpsed ink on the inside of Cedric's wrist, causing him to pause once safely behind the salt barrier. Why would his ghost reflect something that was not there in life? Harry knew that Cedric held no tattoos, or at least, none that were so obvious to see. A shout from the doorway made him duck, as a shotgun blast sounded. Glancing up, Harry was relieved to see the cavalry had arrived. The phantom dispersed from the salt rounds.

Sam and Dean looked harried as they approached. Surprisingly, there were no comments about his lack of attire, simply worried inquiries about Bobby. "I don't know. I heard him come inside, but was attacked. When I came down here, he was gone."

Sam's lips formed into an ugly frown, "Check the scrap yard. Here." He removed his jacket and offered it to the startled wizard. The man shrugged. "Start on the north pile. Dean and I'll take the south. Phone's in the pocket, call us if you find him."

Harry felt extremely silly as he donned the gigantic coat. On Sam, it stopped at the hip, but on Harry, it fell to mid thigh. Shooting a glare as Dean snickered at the sight, he rolled up the sleeves to keep them from falling over his hands. At least it would do a decent job of literally covering his ass if he lost the towel. It was also not lost on him that the brothers were sending him out alone, while sticking together. Scowl to rival Snape's in place, Harry did as directed, however. Despite them saying nothing, he suspected that Cedric was not the only one lingering.

Pausing only to slip on a pair of boots, he cursed loudly as he realized he had forgotten his wand upstairs. There was little for it. Time was not on their side, and the sooner they found Bobby, the better. Splitting from the brothers, Harry jogged down the row of cars, peering through windows as he went. Thankfully the yard was not as expansive as the bigger types he had seen. He did not hesitate at shooting Cedric on sight, when the seeping cold returned. While he felt guilty, he refused to stay around for idle chit-chat.

After nearly ten minutes of searching, his hope began to wane, until the coat pocket started ringing. "_We got him, get back to the house." _Relief coursed through him at that. He stuffed the phone away and broke into as fast a run as he could manage in the too-large boots. He was not sure who's they were, but they certainly were not his size. Turning a stack of cars, he yelped as the gravel gave way and sent him sprawling. The gun went flying as he was forced to catch himself with his hands, wincing as the flesh on his palms and knees stung. Refusing to dwell on it, he shoved himself back up, shivering as the temperature plummeted.

The back door was only feet away as he made a grab for the gun, wheeling around to face the dead teen. A force knocked his hand away, leaving him reeling with pain as something popped. The weapon was lost once more, as he was knocked off his feet, Cedric standing over him with murder in his eyes. He was once more unable to move, breath restricted as the pale form knelt by his side and squeezed Harry's throat in an icy hand.

"You know, people claim that the killing curse is painless. Just a flash of light, and then the lights go out... They've obviously never had it used on them before, now have they. It is. Pure. Agony. Like a million knives tearing at your very _soul_. It felt like centuries, before I finally left my body."

The hunter felt as if he had been stabbed in the heart. Cedric caught his expression, smirking. "You are naive if you believe otherwise. I believe I would like you to feel what you put me through."

Annoyance replaced all other feelings in Harry at the last statement. This was not the real Cedric. This was simply a phantom of every negative thought and emotion the boy had in life, and death. Even if it really was his soul, it was damaged. His mind flashed back to the strange tattoo. It was the key. It had to be. A gunshot sounded from the house, and the force lifted. Almost immediately Dean jogged into view, offering Harry a hand. Attempting to move the fingers of his right hand proved in a blinding flash of agony that something was dislocated, if not broken.

The Winchester shot him a concerned grimace as Harry held out his left hand for leverage, other cradled against his midsection. Sam and Bobby stood guard inside the door, and upon seeing Harry's state, the older hunter motioned them to the basement – and the panic room. The wizard could have kissed the man. There were more weapons, and more importantly, a couple changes of clothing. Ignoring the pain, he followed behind Dean as he led the way. A quick glance behind assured him the others were following.

It was a relief when they finally made it into the ghost-proof room. Cedric, and an obese man who seemed to know the Winchesters, appeared along the way, but were quickly dispersed by well placed blasts of rock salt. Slumping onto the small cot as Bobby barred the door from the inside, he took stock of his injuries. His hand was turning a disconcerting shade of purple, and his thumb was bent at an odd angle – Definitely broken then. His palms were a bloody mess, as were his knees; some gravel was still apparent.

Sam approached with a first aid kit, grimacing as he took in Harry's state. The other two were conversing, leaning over a book which he recognized. Gritting his teeth, he bore the pain of having gravel dug from his wounds without a sound, but could not hold back a loud growl when the younger man insisted on splinting his finger. The noise drew Bobby and Dean over.

"You should stay in here, while we take care of this." Bobby cut him off before he could protest, "Ya ain't no good to us like this, boy. You'll only get yourself killed. It's the Rise of the Witnesses... First sign of the apocalypse according to your book."

The news made Harry frown grimly and remain silent. This was more serious than a simple poltergeist infestation, or he would have put up a bigger fuss about being left behind in the panic room. The shining light was that the symptom could be stopped, and Bobby had all the ingredients. Dean looked sympathetic as he tossed a pair of pants and shirt to the wizard.

"Here... You still got the phone?" At Harry's nod, the other man smirked. "We'll, ah, give you a call once we roast these suckers."

Playing the waiting game was never one of Harry's strong suits. After donning the clothes, he paced restlessly, gaze snapping around at every distant crash and clatter he heard from upstairs. Claustrophobia had never been a real issue with him, but he felt as if the iron walls were closing in, with each circle he took. Already on edge, a snarl left him and he brought his pistol up to bear upon feeling a sudden presence behind him. Finger squeezing the trigger, he paused, but did not let up, at the uninvited, and unwanted intruder.

"What the bloody hell do you want?"

A beaming grin was his only response, as the figure reclined on the bed. "Is that how you greet all the people who try helping you?"

Running a frazzled hand through his mane of hair, Harry scowled darkly. The gun was only lowered upon realizing the being had gotten past all of the anti-demonic sigils and wards. Considering who it was, he could not be surprised. He grit his teeth as the man gave him a lazy once-over.

"Answer my question... Please." The last was added sarcastically, as Harry continued his pacing. A chuckle from the bed made him want to tear out his hair.

"Aww, don't be like that. Like I said, I'm here to help you." Upon receiving a belligerent stare, the trickster smirked, putting his hands up in surrender. After a moment, he even looked down-right serious, which did not sit right with Harry at all.

"You know what's going on. This right here? Is a prime example of a seal being broken. The winged dick-heads asked you to stop it, and then didn't even tell you what to look for. Typical."

"Neither did you."

The pissy comment went ignored, "You spotted my disguise pretty well. How about this: You adopt a new pet, and it can lead you to the seals that you can get to."

Unable to help himself, Harry snorted. "And what? Install a doggy side-car on my bike? No thank you." Loki rolled his eyes at that.

"No." He said it as if Harry were mentally deficient. "You, my friend, should be sticking close to the Winchesters. Ergo, you should carpool. Does wonders for the environment, too."

A bit fed up with pacing, and truthfully, the pain getting to him, Harry finally took a seat next to the table. "Why are you helping me?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I like you, but you're not my type." The trickster shook his head, letting out a quiet sigh. "You and those chuckleheads are the only ones who can stop this thing... I can't interfere, not directly. And what sort of demi-god would I be if I let my playground get overrun with bullies?"

Frown tugging his lips, Harry felt annoyance surge. "You realize that if you stick around as my pet, you won't be able to pull disappearing acts. It'd look suspicious, if you don't want the Winchesters finding out."

He was tired of arguing in circles with the being. What it all boiled down to was that the world was ending, and a demi-god did not want his toys being taken away. But help was help, regardless of the quarter. Regarding him silently for a long moment, his normal guise looked a bit run-down. There were bags beneath his eyes, and his hair was unkempt. Such could have been a trick, but Harry was willing to overlook that fact until proven.

"You'd also have to lay off on them. No peeing in shoos or shredding car seats." Loki looked as if Harry had just canceled Christmas, but after a pause, he nodded.

"Fair enough... I need to lie low for a while anyway." The lack of argument made Harry alternately suspicious and convinced. In any case, he would get to see if the trickster kept his word. The major point would be convincing Sam and Dean to let him hunt with them. He thought they trusted him, but they still barely knew each other, for all the trouble they seemed to get into together. As if summoned by the thought, Sam's phone rang.

Shooting Loki a warning look, Harry hung up after the brief confirmation from Sam. The witnesses were released, and he was free to head up. Making his way over to the door, he heard the click of nails on the floor behind him. Ignoring it steadfastly, he led the way up the stairs, keeping his gun drawn just in case. The library was a royal mess, and the other three men looked worn out, but in one piece. Bobby was the first to notice the addition.

"What's that mutt doing in my house?"

Harry glanced back at Loki. For his part, the god looked just the same as the coyote from the day before, aside from some mild changes. His ears were shaped differently, and his snout was less narrow. To the untrained eye he appeared to just be an unusually colored mix breed. Licking his lips nervously, Harry shrugged.

"He was scratching on the panic room door. I risked it, considering the spirits couldn't have gotten past the wards. He probably wandered in through the back door while we were looking for you, Bobby."

The older man huffed, staring Loki down. The trickster's head cocked to the side, before he sat on his haunches and woofed quietly, tail wagging emphatically. Harry glanced away from the display, uncertain if he could keep a straight face. The relief of no longer having a crisis to see to made the agreement between them seem all the more amusing to the wizard.

"That don't answer why you didn't kick his tail out."

"I don't know, kinda like him. He doesn't have a collar, so I'm thinking of keeping him. I've never had a pet before."

Three incredulous looks went ignored, as Harry scratched Loki behind the ears. A canine grin and lolling tongue was the only response to the action. He certainly knew how to act, Harry could give him that. It was Sam who brought up the expected topic on the matter. "Wouldn't it be dangerous? I mean, you can't have a dog on a motorcycle..."

"Well, I figure that with everything that's happening, we shouldn't stray too far from each other. The logical step would be me staying here permanently. No offense, Bobby, but that's not happening. Or I travel with you two."

The expected protests never came, much to Harry's surprise. Dean looked uncaring at the idea, and Sam appeared to be mulling it over. "What about the dog?"

"The impala has a large back-seat." The wizard watched the older Winchester carefully, keeping his voice light, but expectant. The man's nose crinkled in annoyance, but after a long pause, he shrugged.

"Sure. Why not. The world's ending, so the more the merrier." Stunned silence followed in his wake, as he made his way into the kitchen for a beer. Bobby and Sam exchanged a worried glance. For his part, Harry was worried as well, but less so. The man had just gotten out of Hell, so it could be forgiven if he stopped caring about the little things.

Things eventually settled down to some level of normalcy. Harry reclaimed his clothing and his wand, and with a quick wave, most of Bobby's things were repaired, and the messes cleaned up. The man nodded in thanks, before burying his nose in a book. Sam was surfing on his laptop in an armchair, and Dean looked bored as he pretended to read. The wizard felt they deserved a break, so he excused himself to the kitchen to repair the bone in his finger. The hand would still be swollen for a while, but it was useable again. Grabbing an icepack from the freezer, he joined them soon after.

Evening set in, prompting Bobby to call it a night. Sam had relocated to the couch, where he lay snoring quietly with a book open on his chest. Dean was pretending to sleep on the floor next to the couch. He had laid down shortly after Bobby went upstairs, but by his breathing patterns, sleep eluded him. Glancing at the clock, Harry rubbed his eyes wearily. It was only ten o'clock, but considering the day they had all had, an early turn-in sounded sublime.

Taking the Winchesters' current statuses as an invitation, Harry reclaimed 'his' room upstairs. The trickster followed at his heels, much to his annoyance. Refusing to be uncomfortable in his own home away from home, he ignored the god in favor of stripping to his boxers and crawling into bed. A few minutes later, the other bed creaked as a canine body hopped up.

Silence reined, as the wizard tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable enough to drift off. His various bruises and odd wounds pulled and ached no matter how he lay, but he was too prideful to take a healing potion, and muggle pain killers tended to not work on him. To add to the discomfort, a familiar prickling of his skin informed him to a presence downstairs. Castiel, or another angel, had apparently come calling without regard for their Grace. As if in response to the thought, the feeling diminished, and Loki gave a quiet growl.

"You have a trickster in your bed." The gravely voice, as well as the words, made Harry want to bash his head against a wall. Was there no end to the divine intervention? Peeking out from his nest of blankets, the wizard could make-out the angel's puzzled stare at the furry demi-god. Groaning quietly, Harry submerged himself so only his strands of hair were visible.

"Go state the obvious to someone who cares at this hour." His voice was muffled, but the annoyance carried well enough. There was a pause, and he almost deluded himself into thinking the ponce had left.

"You do not trust me. But I can help you, if you let me. Your godfather remains well, despite my brothers stopping your communication."

Unable to summon up more than a mild inkling of relief, Harry grunted noncommittally. He was glad Sirius' soul was alright, but he had living people to worry about at the moment. When the angel spoke up again, Harry was satisfied to detect a note of emotion, negative though it was.

"You will be hunted for what you possess." Such prompted a snort.

"I've been hunted my entire life."

"My brothers will hunt you." That was new. Half sitting up in alarm, the sound of wings heralded Castiel's departure. Irritation coursed through him, and his hands clenched into fists. He should have expected such antics by now, though. It took a moment before he realized that his hand was not throbbing at the action. Glancing down, he boggled as the dim lighting from the window allowed the realization that the skin was once again pink, and the swelling was gone as if it never happened. From the other side of the room, Loki finally piped up.

"Angels. I'll never understand 'em."

Frowning, he let himself fall back tentatively, letting out a relieved sigh when no discomfort assaulted him. Staring up at the dark ceiling, he murmured, "Me neither." A few minutes later, he was asleep.

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**Note: **A bit on the short side, but I feel it gives enough intrigue to hold you guys over until the next update. I've been extremely busy with real life drama, and it hasn't left me much time to sit down and focus for long. But things should be calming down soon, which will hopefully get the next one out in a timely manner.


	16. Ballroom Blitz

The next morning heralded a certain realization in Dean. He had invited Harry to carpool with him and Sam. The other hunter was kind of cool, freaky magic aside. No, it was the addition of the coyote mutt that had him confused as he mulled the situation over while sipping coffee at the kitchen 'table'. Normally the very notion of having a dog in his precious girl would have him throwing a fit and declining. Yet the situation had him oddly unemotional. It was easy enough to chalk up to just getting back from Hell, but something did not sit right with him. Then there was Harry's motorcycle. It was a sweet ride, but impractical for a hunter. Maybe he had to ditch the Camaro.

Letting out a weary sigh, he scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. There was no use thinking on it too hard. It was not like he could revoke his invitation after agreeing. Not only would it make him look unstable, but it would make Sam make the bitch face at him. He hated bitch-face Sammy. Repressing the urge to startle at a noise from the 'living room', he composed himself with a grimace as Harry wandered in. The guy was looking surprisingly good after being used as a ghost's punching bag. Even the bruising around his neck was gone, although he figured that had more to do with the guy's freaky magic than much else. Seeming to ignore him, Dean watched as Harry groggily made himself a cup of coffee and toast, only acknowledging the other presence after gulping down half the cup as he waited for the toaster to pop.

"What did Castiel want?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean grimaced, using his own coffee to stall. The wizard took a seat across from him after a moment, staring at him with a raised eyebrow, "I could feel his grace." Heaving a sigh, Dean felt inexplicably guilty at those words. The other hunter was in obvious agony the last time the angel didn't mind his aura thingy. Pausing to observe the smaller man, he bit back a look of surprise. Somehow he had failed to notice the shave. The dude cleaned up nice, the lack of stubble making him look more his age. Coughing quietly as he caught himself staring, he shrugged.

"Just dropped in to say 'hi', I guess." The man looked disbelieving, but thankfully did not pursue the topic. They sat in slightly awkward silence while the wizard slowly demolished his toast and coffee, seeming to perk up after several minutes.

"So when are we heading out? Not that I mind beer and soggy sandwiches for every meal, but I'm thinking we should get on top of this apocalypse thing."

The question made Dean sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Probably as soon as Sam finishes his beauty sleep. Looks like we might have a case already." He shoved a news paper towards the other man, pointing at a small article highlighting the drowning death of a man nowhere near water. Harry whistled quietly after reading, "That sounds like a doozy... Listen, if you want I can take my bike... you'd just have to take the mutt since it doesn't have a side car."

Mentions of the bike made something nag at the back of Dean's mind again. Shrugging, he finally gave into curiosity, "What happened to your camaro anyway?" For a fraction of a second, the wizard looked horribly confused, before the expression closed off.

"Oh, it's around here somewhere... I'd better go get packed." The contradiction caused Dean to frown, wondering if something was going on with Harry. Then again, with a wince, he recalled the condition the guy had been in when he returned from Hell. Forgetfulness could be forgiven since it seemed he had been working non-stop on saving Dean's bacon. Shaking his head, he returned to nursing his Irish coffee, savoring the bite of alcohol under the bitter brew.

Upstairs, Harry was engaged in a staring contest with an all too amused canine. Dean's question about the camaro had caused far too much confusion for comfort, and it was with great suspicion that he questioned the trickster still lounging on one of the beds. "What happened to my camaro?" The dog rolled lazily to its back, tail wagging as it stretched. "What camaro?" The tone held hints of sleep and innocence, making Harry's eyes narrow dangerously. "Now isn't the time for tricks. Dean said that I have a camaro, but I know I only have a bike. Right now I'm more inclined to believe him than you." After several moments of staring, the dog finally huffed and rolled to his feet, stretching lazily before sitting on his haunches.

"Oh, fine. I knew I should have made the illusion deeper." Harry's glare intensified, almost seeming to make the coyote nervous. "Okay, yes, I was tricking you! Boom, there, everything's back how it should be. But just so you know, I was only trying to help... you loved your godfather's bike before you had to leave it behind." The trickster sounded sincere, staring at him with puppy eyes. After a moment of racking his brain, the location of the camaro came to mind, making him nod in satisfaction. He sighed heavily and sat on the edge of the other bed, scrubbing his hands over his face.

"... Thank you, for trying to make me feel better... But right now isn't the best time for such things. Every trick you pull only heightens suspicion, and I doubt the Winchesters would forgive me for keeping company with a trickster." The dog licked his snout in contempt at mentions of the brothers, but gave a shrug, "I suppose you're right. Old dog, new tricks, and all that." Harry got to his feet after a moment, gesturing for the mutt to follow him, "Best you're not in here when they come to collect their things. We're leaving soon."

Heading down the hallway to a much smaller bedroom, Harry ignored the trickster in favor of collecting his own belongings, shoving clothing into his duffel haphazardly and snagging a pistol from beneath his pillow. Even in Bobby's house he found it impossible to sleep without a weapon in easy reach. Giving the room a once-over, he heard Sam's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and surmised that they would be leaving sooner than he thought. It was fine by him, as he itched to get on the road and sort out the mess. Murmuring quietly, to avoid having the others think him crazy, he addressed the dog once more, "I think it's safer if we take the camaro. Do you need to eat and... do business like a real dog?"

The trickster seemed to grin for a moment, before shaking his head, "Nah, just give me table scraps every once in a while and I'll be a happy pooch." Harry grunted in acknowledgment as he levered both bags over a shoulder before heading downstairs, Sam not far behind doing the same. After stowing away his gear in the camaro, which had mysteriously replaced the bike without notice by the others, he and Sam waited in awkward silence for Dean to join them. The wizard was actually grateful Dean helped him see through the illusion, as it would spare him having to listen to sibling spats during the drive. Perhaps that had been part of the trick; forcing Harry to listen to the arguments and chick flick moments. It would certainly fit into the more innocent side of practical jokes. He could not buy into the trickster giving him Sirius' old bike out of the kindness of his heart.

Several minutes later, Dean joined them, carrying his own bag from where it had been left in the living room. Bobby followed close behind, giving them all serious looks. "You all watch your backs out there. And stick together! I don't wanna get any calls bitchin' about not being able to do this or that because one of ya bailed." The last seemed to be directed squarely at the brothers, but they all nodded solemnly. They knew better than to go against the older hunter. To his face, anyway. They exchanged parting waves with Bobby before hopping in their respective cars, Harry following the black impala with the coyote riding shotgun.

It surprised Harry to discover that the trickster actually made a fairly good road companion. He remained quiet for the most part, but spoke up with raunchy jokes whenever the silence got too stifling. The wizard was almost expecting the demi-god to be an annoyance, but he seemed to be taking his new job seriously. Such was a good thing, as he thought he saw Dean eyeballing him from his rear view mirror a time or two. He had to wonder what was going through the Winchester's mind, since he had been rather bipolar since getting back from Hell. And verging on alcoholism, if the scent of his morning coffee had been anything to go by.

They drove on well into the afternoon with no breaks, making the wizard glad he still had a small stockpile of snacks stashed away. He shared potato chips and candy bars with the mutt, feeling rather awkward for doing so, but more at ease with it the more he thought about it. The enemy of your enemy is your friend rang true. Despite the ample snacks, they were both relieved to see Dean pull off at a motel shortly after dusk. The trickster barreled over Harry to exit once he attempted to open the door, prompting Dean to laugh and Harry to fight not to kick the dog in public.

"Two rooms?" The older man wandered off before either companion could agree. Sam looked annoyed as he stretched his legs near the trunk, waiting to see if he should pull out their bags. They stood in awkward silence, watching as the coyote sniffed around the building, lifting his leg a time or two. Harry grimaced and averted his gaze from the sight. "So... ah... I'm sorry." Sam was getting well versed in apologizing to a lot of people, it seemed. The shorter man sighed, shaking his head, "Don't worry about it. He's back now and that's all that matters."

They didn't get much more opportunity to speak, as Dean wandered back over, tossing Harry his own key. "Room 28, we're right next door." Nodding, the wizard turned to collect his own bags, whistling sharply to get the trickster's attention. While not meaning to seem anti-social, he needed a beer and a nap. For once, he forwent his normal over-the-top protections and settled upon salt lines and hex bags. He figured the trickster would warn him if anything tried breaking in. The coyote watched him putter around from where it had settled on the single bed, and once the door was firmly locked and sealed with salt, he shifted forms, stretching out lazily in his human form. Harry only spared him a glance, raiding his duffel bag for the six pack he had kept stocked since his first chats with the angel.

"Are you still brooding?" The hunter huffed and flopped onto the bed, using a pocket knife to pop the top off a long-neck. He steadfastly ignored the trickster, even though he felt the being shift closer to him. "You know, alcoholism doesn't suit you." Taking a long drink, he flinched instinctively when fingers darted into his view, smacking them away when the demi-god tried to steal the bottle. "I don't see how it's your business, so long as I keep your toys from being destroyed." He was both satisfied and strangely sorry when the man looked as though he'd been slapped, good mood gone. The wizard should have felt more alarmed at possibly upsetting an omnipotent being, but after the emotional roller-coaster of the past week, he could not bring himself to care, beyond grudgingly reaching into a pocket and offering the man a candy bar.

After several minutes of mutual brooding, Harry sighed, setting the bottle aside and glancing at the mutt, who was staring at the candy bar with a pout. "What do I call you, anyway? Are the names in lore even accurate?" That seemed to finally break through some of the foul mood permeating the room, as the being gave a slight smile. "Nah, you were dead on, actually. Loki... Coyote... Anansi... Call me Loki, though. It's the name I'm fondest of." The admission caused a raised eyebrow from Harry, "Is it true you gave birth to an eight legged horse?" The question shocked the god into laughing, finally moving to eat the candy.

"Well, when you live for long enough you get bored with the usual way of things." That caused Harry to chuckle, reaching for the TV remote on the nightstand as a loud argument started up in the room next to theirs. No doubt it was Sam and Dean. The wizard would have to remind them later how thin hotel walls are. Switching through the channels listlessly, he finally gave the remote over to Loki after the second cycle through. "I don't understand how normal people can watch this rubbish." Almost predictably, the trickster settled on a children's cartoon featuring a cat and mouse trying to kill each other. Harry grimaced and sat up to undo his boots, considering catching some shut-eye to escape the horrible program and the escalating drama next door.

"Aww, it's not that bad. Think about it, stuff like this teaches kids how to handle life!"

"By hacking each other up with cleavers or bludgeoning pets to death with hammers?" He didn't have to look up to know Loki was pouting again, but was surprised by the response. "Well, when you put it that way..." Harry heard the channels flip to settle on some type of soap opera, making him wince. Not that he could complain, the god had changed the channel when he expressed distaste for the cartoon. They heard a door slam one unit over, and Harry knew that one of the brothers had stalked off in a self-righteous rage. He rolled his eyes, "You'd think they were married." The trickster laughed in agreement, cheerfulness back at the thought of Sam and Dean angst.

Laying back against the pillows, Harry squirmed, trying to get comfortable. Normally he slept on the side of the bed where the trickster was currently situated. As if sensing the problem, Loki spoke up, "We can switch places if you want." The wizard shook his head, not wanting to displace the being. "I'm fine." He heard the other man scoff, but ignored it, rolling to his side and burrowing into the pillows but not bothering with the blankets. It only took a few minutes before he was snoring quietly.

His dreams were troubled, as per normal, however they were devoid of divine beings. Nightmares plagued him, of various failings throughout his life, causing him to toss and turn where he lay. The god frowned at the fuss the mortal hunter was putting up in his sleep, reaching over to press two fingers to his forehead. The action made the smaller man crinkle his nose and flinch, but calmed his dreams. Letting out an aggravated sigh, Loki bounced to his feet and leaned over to pull the human to the other side of the bed, taking the opportunity to also cover him up. This one was far too charitable for his own good, and it wasn't often that the demi-god got to think that of any mortal. It was sad, even to him, to think that the small man laying next to him had yet to realize his own self-worth. Oh sure, he acted like a dick sometimes, but that was all bravado in the face of danger.

Shaking his head, the trickster shut off the TV, and after making sure the wards were still firmly in place, he disappeared. Just because he was the canine companion of a hunter didn't mean he had to neglect his own amusements. There was a wife-beater across town who needed to get a taste of his own medicine, and a dentist in the next town over who liked copping a feel on knocked out patients. Their egos were so huge he was surprised the town was still standing.

Shortly after being left alone, Harry jolted awake with a pained cry, biting neatly through the inside of his cheek as what felt like ten cruciatus curses coursed through him. Jerking and tangling with the blankets, he tumbled from the bed and curled into a ball, shaking uncontrollably even as the agony slowly dissipated. His nerves felt raw, and every twitch of muscle made him wish to cry. Several moments passed, before a hand on his arm forced his eyes open. Castiel stood over him, actually looking a bit worried.

"I am sorry. I did not realize you were still with the Winchesters."

"W-what-" Harry cut himself off and ground his teeth hard, attempting to force himself up. The angel took a step back to give him room, for which the wizard was grateful. Sitting up was no easy task, but he managed with a pained grimace. "Dean needed to be shown something important. It required I use the full scope of my powers."

"Important?" His voice was hoarse from sleep and pain. Steeling himself, he struggled to his feet only to collapse onto the bed, muscles refusing to cooperate. The angel watched him with passing interest, nodding almost hesitantly at the question. "Nothing to concern yourself with. He will be fine when he returns." The cryptic words did little to set Harry at ease, but he chose to ignore it. "There anyway to keep you lot from trying to kill me every time you decide to let loose?" There went the head tilt again, as the angel processed the request. "No. Not without sacrificing a pregnant virgin."

Harry grimaced, "I'll pass... At least try to warn me before you do it again." Castiel sighed and nodded slightly, "I will... try to warn you. It will not always be possible, but I have no wish to cause you such discomfort unnecessarily." Though the words were not as comforting as they should have been, the wizard took what he could get. "You will feel it again in two hours, when I bring Dean back. I can send you elsewhere, if you wish." Scrubbing a hand over his face, Harry shook his head.

"No... I'll deal with it." Reaching over to snag the abandoned beer, he took a deep swig despite it now being luke warm. He made a nasty face at it, but took a second, smaller, drink after a moment. All the while, the angel stood staring at him. It was a bit creepy. Coughing quietly to break the silence, he blinked up at Castiel before looking away, "So, there's something I've been wondering since the day you popped into my dreams..." When no reaction was forthcoming, Harry shouldered on. "Why were you assigned to guard me when I was a child?"

Silence reigned, making him look up again from trying to work the muscles in his leg. The angel was gone. Scowling, Harry forced himself to his feet, making a slow shuffle towards the bathroom. After relieving himself, he went about donning his shoes and jacket, painfully shouldering his bags, intent on escaping the motel before the angel could cause more damage. Driving himself out of town, he stopped at a water side park overlooking a lazy river. Letting out a noise of pure exhaustion, he eased his seat back and reclined. He was asleep in minutes.

When he awoke next, sunlight invaded his eyes and his cell phone was going off, causing him to wince as if he had a hangover. His muscles ached and were stiff from the previous night, as well as the uncomfortable sleeping position. Groping blindly for the phone, he blinked groggily at the number before answering.

"Yeah?"

"_Hey, where'd you go last night? Me and Sam are halfway to Pittsburgh by now. We found a case._" Letting out a ragged sigh, the wizard pulled the phone from his ear to stare at the time. It was nearly noon. "Castiel used his grace." There was a long pause as the meaning sunk in, "_Jeez, dude, that guy's a dick." _Making a noise of agreement, Harry started the engine, taking a long minute to assess if he was awake enough to drive.

"Yeah, he is. What was it about anyway?" Deciding that he was indeed awake, he paid no attention to Dean as he tried side-stepping the question. Honestly, he almost didn't want to know what had caused that much pain. Shaking his head after a minute, he cut the older man off before he could finish an obvious lie. "Listen, I think I'm going to shop around a bit, maybe follow up on that drowning. Keep me posted and let me know if you need anything."

"_... Alright. Same to you." _They both hung up without much more being said. Honestly, what was there _to _say? They had an angel stalking them and the apocalypse hanging over their heads. Calling up Bobby, the wizard secured the location of the supposed drowning on dry land. Although he noted the absence of a certain trickster, he was certain the being could catch up with little trouble. Only following the traffic laws enough to not get pulled over, it only took five hours to get to Paint Lick, Kentucky from where they had left off in northern Illinois. Harry had to wonder who named the town, but shrugged it off as he took in the small village. It was barely a blip on the map, with main street sprawling for all of one block.

Pulling over to chat with one of the locals, he was kindly informed that the nearest motel was five miles out, near Berea. While annoying, it was certainly better than some towns Harry had seen in his travels. Middle of no-where Oregon came to mind. During one hunt in the mountains, he had spent an entire week sleeping in his car because lodgings were down to camp grounds or small, expensive, cabins.

Getting himself situated in a motel, he got to work on the case, hitting the tiny library first to check their records. As it turned out, the township of Paint Lick had experienced similar "accidents" in the past, occurring in twenty year intervals. Jotting down notes on the previous victims, he racked his brain trying to figure out what may have caused it. There were a few creatures he knew of who used water to kill, but most of them were purely aquatic and the victims had all been found in their homes. It was possible a spirit was the culprit, but none of the victims appeared connected.

Regrouping at the motel room, he grimaced as he conjured a suit and tie, along with an FBI badge. He loathed wearing the pristine clothes, but he needed to look into the most recent victim. It was possible the body held clues. Stripping down to his boxers, he glared at the innocent suit, barely breaking his stare-down when a familiar voice piped up from behind him. "I see how it is. You ditch me the second I wander out for snacks."

"The angel nearly killed me with his grace. I decided it was best not to stick around. What do you know about these?" He finally turned to face Loki, picking up the pad of stationary and offering it over. The god looked confused as he read the notes on the victims. "I dunno. Great view, by the way." The trickster cheerfully nodded towards Harry's boxers while tossing the notes aside. Frowning, the wizard shook his head before turning to get dressed, making a face as he adjusted the collar on the shirt. A small illusion spell later, and he looked like any other clean-cut agent he had ever seen.

"Oh, you clean up well. Not digging the illusion, but hey, ya gotta do what ya gotta do." The man pulled a candy bar from his pocket and unwrapped it, chowing down while still talking, "I'll tell ya what, I'll sniff around the houses these were found in, help ya out a little." He made an inappropriate noise as he finished off the chocolate bar. Harry was hardly fooled, raising an eyebrow at him, "What do you want?"

"I was going to help you out of the kindness of my heart, but since you asked," Loki pretended to pout, before smirking. "How about a date?" The offer caught Harry by surprise, making him freeze in his tracks. The reaction seemed to amuse the trickster, and for a moment he thought it was a joke, before recalling their conversation about the eight legged horse. Resuming his movements, he remained silent as he pulled on his shoes and double checked his guns, lost in thought. After a while, Loki coughed to get his attention.

"If you don't want to-" Harry cut him off with a head shake, "No, it's not that... I just don't think I'm all that into men, and it would be weird if you just... went female, or whatever it is you do." That caused the god to frown, "How do you know if you've never tried it? You only live once. Come on, one date, and if you don't like it, I'll never ask again." Seriously thinking over the offer, Harry shrugged neutrally, "I dunno... maybe after this case."

The non-commitment seemed to satisfy the demi-god, making him grin in satisfaction, "You won't regret it, promise." With that, he was gone just as quick as he had popped in, presumably to investigate the homes of the victims. Having little else to distract him, Harry finally committed to visiting the morgue, pushing Loki's odd behavior to the back of his mind as he slipped seamlessly into business mode.

Agent Harry "Rutsey" gained easy access to the mortuary after some haggling with the attendant, insisting that he was investigating because of recent similar deaths in neighboring states. Thankfully the body had yet to be embalmed, pending a full investigation. For being such a spec of a town, the police seemed intent on doing their job thoroughly. It was a relief, since it meant the only real issue he could run into was if he needed a look at the police reports themselves. Glancing over the coroner's report, he frowned at seeing nothing out of place. It looked like a standard drowning. Grimacing, he pulled on rubber gloves before diving in.

An hour and a half of combing over every inch of a corpse was not Harry's idea of a good time, so it was with much relief that he finally admitted defeat and high-tailed it back to the motel for a shower and a beer, stopping by a diner for food along the way. While he had yet to figure out what caused the deaths, he felt satisfied with the progress he had made. He had not been able to find any physical indications beyond what the report had already stated. By all accounts, the man had drowned in his living room and nothing more. He had even managed to get the attendant to admit the police had found no evidence of the body being moved at the scene, and no struggle.

That meant one of three things. The body was planted, or it was a spirit, or it was a creature that the man had known or not seen coming. Either way, it narrowed it down, if by very little. The trickster would hopefully have better luck at the houses. Entering his room and checking the salt lines, the wizard dropped the cartons to the table before immediately jumping into the shower, crinkling his nose as the scent of days old rot clung to his hands despite the gloves he had worn. He loathed morgue duty. It was days like this that made him envy the Winchesters. The brothers could draw straws for the disgusting stuff.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Loki was helping himself to the food, honing in on the cake and pie slices Harry had gotten for dessert. Frowning, the wizard wandered over and smacked the man upside the head, earning a yelp and a pout. "Info first, then I'll let you have the cake." He sat down and dug into his meal, waiting for the trickster to stop sulking and get on with it.

"Well aren't you a bundle of laughs." The man sighed and lounged back in his seat, "You got yourself a rusalka." Harry stared blankly, mid-way through a bite of hamburger. The name didn't ring any bells. His slack-jawed stare earned him a raised eyebrow, "They're spirits. The good news is, they can be vanquished. The bad news is, the corpse is at the bottom of a well under a house." Harry sighed and nudged the container with the cake closer to the trickster, earning him a cheer before the god dug in.

"There any way to get it to show itself?" Waiting for Loki to stop being inappropriate with his food, Harry stared at his ring thoughtfully. The god picked up on the direction of his stare, making a thoughtful noise, "Well, they usually only go after married men and unfaithful maidens. You're neither." Tilting his head slightly, Harry chuckled, "Actually I am married by a technicality." Ignoring the trickster's surprised look, he explained, "Spirits aren't usually big on seeing the truth. The fact that I never signed the final papers should be enough even though Ginny's remarried by now." Leaning over to peer out the window, he got to his feet and went about getting ready for a potentially long night.

"Can you show me where the house is?" Hesitating for a long minute, Harry dug into a side pocket on his clothing duffel and pulled out a silver ring. Staring at it as if it might bite, he slipped it on his left ring finger hurriedly when the trickster spoke up, "No, but I can write it down... I have to take care of something." Glancing at the being, Harry raised an eyebrow, "Someone getting a fat head somewhere?" The god laughed and nodded, but something did not seem right about his eyes. They were veiled, as if he were hiding something. Loki scribbled on the pad of motel stationary before standing and offering it to Harry.

"Rain check on that date? Take care of yourself, champ. Don't wait up for me." Before the wizard could question the strange words, the god was gone. He frowned blankly at the paper; Loki almost sounded like he was saying 'goodbye'. Shrugging it off, he memorized the address before heading out. Who was he to analyze the oddities of demi-gods. Truthfully if it really was goodbye, it would be a relief and less likely to result in him being beaten to a pulp by other hunters, namely Dean Winchester. On the flip side, it meant that he might be losing an ally, which did not bode well with all the omens and hints he had been privy to. Not to mention the help Loki had promised in tracking down seals.

Growling quietly under his breath as he attempted to pinpoint a rout on a local map, he wondered for the first time whether it was a good idea to separate from the brothers, as Bobby had warned them against. Something about the air set him on edge the closer the sun inched to the horizon, and Loki's behavior had already left a shadow lingering in the back of his mind. This was shaping into a standard hunt, but the sense of foreboding refused to budge. Once the sun slipped out of sight the atmosphere took on a charged edge, making him grit his teeth. Something big was about to happen. Not one to dismiss such things out of hand, he pulled off the road a half mile from the house and got out, popping the trunk to rummage through his weapons cache.

Surveying the equipment, he snagged an empty pack from the side and loaded it up with a can of lighter fluid, a small bag of salt, and a sawed-off. After a moment of thought, he also added a blessed silver dagger to the collection. While Loki had stated the remains were out of bounds, it was better safe than dead. Double checking the gun holstered at his hip and making sure his wand and the cloak of invisibility were still tucked away safely in his jacket, the resurrection stone caught his attention as it glinted from his right index finger. Some very calculated wand-work later and it looked identical to his wedding band, which he slipped off and tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. Slipping the now plain band onto his left ring finger, he at last felt secure enough to proceed.

Leaving the car where it was, he trekked the distance to the house, staying under the cover of the forest as he scouted it out. It was an old farm house that looked in disrepair, windows shattered or boarded up. There were no lights or cars apparent, so it was likely abandoned. He wondered if the ghost had scared the previous owners away. Or killed them. Frowning as the hair on his arms stood on end, he carefully closed the distance to the back door and skillfully picked the rusted out lock. A thin layer of dust coated the floor and spars furniture, making him repress the urge to sneeze as his boots kicked particles into the air. Doing a careful sweep of the lower floor, he spotted footsteps in the dirt leading upstairs. He got the distinct feeling that they had not been left by accident.

Treading cautiously, he ascended to the upper floor, grinding his teeth at every creek the steps made. Wise to the potential trap, he slipped the shot gun from his bag and began drawing energy into the Resurrection Stone. Whatever was in the house had manifested to the point of leaving a trail, which meant it was likely stronger than he had originally anticipated. Drawing in a steadying breath, he followed the tracks until they disappeared through a closed entry at the end of the hall. Bringing the gun up, he wasted no more time as he kicked the door open, finger already beginning to squeeze the trigger.

Pure agony erupted through his frame as a familiar crawling sensation washed over his skin, making him let out a strangled cry. Shaking uncontrollably, he fought to keep the gun up as he squinted desperately into the dark room, trying to spot the source. The pain intensified sharply, driving him to his knees and unable to keep his arms from dropping to brace himself as his muscles convulsed. Red and white spots flashed in his eyes and they began to sting, forcing him to snap them closed with an enraged snarl.

"Typical little feral monkey. At least you know your place." The voice caused Harry to jerk, instinctively trying to move but unable to through the mind-numbing torture wracking his frame. Barely registering the sound of footsteps, it took him by surprise when what felt like a semi-truck hit him in the side, driving him to his back and adding to the discomfort. Hardly able to think, he was dimly thankful that Castiel had taken more care with his grace in the past, if this is what pure and unfiltered angelic power felt like.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself. If I used my full power you'd be a drooling, mindless, shell by now. If you didn't still serve a purpose to us, I would take great pleasure in showing you what we can do." The pain had apparently shot his mind-to-mouth filter, since he did not think he spoke the thought. Unable to struggle against a hand suddenly gripping his, he could only utter a pathetic whimper as it was forced flat against the floor, something sharp pressing the skin just under the Resurrection Stone.

"Be thankful I'm only here for this... What a pathetic illusion. Did you really think this would stop _me _from seeing it? Not that I expect more from bottom-feeding filth." A sickening crunch registered to Harry even as the additional pain was lost among shattered nerves. Bile rose in his throat as a wet sensation trickled over the skin on his left hand, shudders wracked his frame as his magic registered the loss of the Hallow. Just as abruptly as it all started, the agony vanished, leaving him gasping for breath and trembling as he futilely struggled against deadened nerves. Wrenching open his eyes, he blinked unshed tears away and gazed at his left hand. The stump where his ring finger used to be bled steadily, staining his hand and the floor crimson. His last thought before darkness claimed him was that Bobby was going to kill him for splitting from the Winchesters.

* * *

_Four Days Later... _

"Hey, have you heard anything from Harry?" Sam grimaced and looked away at Dean's impressive display of talking with a mouthful of hamburger. The elder Winchester was delighted to see his brother's grimace of disgust at the behavior, although the good mood he found himself in was quickly heading down the drain with the current topic. After ganking the Dracula wannabe he had been calling the British hunter every few hours to check in, but the calls were going straight to voice mail. "No, I haven't. Do you think something happened?"

Shrugging and getting to his feet, Dean left a wad of cash on the table before motioning for Sam to follow. "I don't know. He does seem to be the accident-prone type." Considering the list of injuries the wizard had sustained since they met him, the younger Winchester had to agree. "Think we should call Bobby?" The thought of the chewing out they would get if they called the older hunter had Dean shaking his head.

"I know where he went. Let's go check it out before we call in the calvary." During the three and a half hour trip Sam tried calling the MIA hunter's phone, to no avail. The lack of contact made them both worry, considering the angels and demons gunning for all three of them at the moment. As it turned out, the other hunter was rather easy to track down once they reached the tiny village and discovered there was only a single inn within 30 miles. Although any sign of the camaro was absent, the receptionist in the office informed them that he saw Harry stumble into his room looking like death warmed over two days ago.

Exchanging a look, the brothers made their way down the units until they came to Harry's. Knocking impatiently on the door yielded no answers. Sam scowled, making to try the knob, but paused and drew his hand away abruptly. Glancing around his shoulder, Dean grimaced and nudged him out of the way. The handle and jam were smeared with dried blood. Wasting no more time, the older Winchester knelt down and picked the locks, shoving the door open and drawing his gun in one swift move.

The room appeared empty at first glance. The wizard's belongings were absent, save one pack, and the only light was filtering in through the open door. Stepping carefully to avoid small smatterings of blood on the floor, he relaxed enough to stow his gun away when he realized there was messy black hair sticking up from under the bed covers. Flipping on the light switch as Sam followed him in and locked the door, Dean admittedly feared for the worst when he stepped over to the bed and pulled the covers back.

"Death warmed over" did not even cover the condition the smaller man was in. Dirt-stained and bloody, he made the grungy hotel sheets look pristine by comparison. Dean checked his pulse first to ensure it was not the case, letting out a relieved sigh at the thready but there heart beat. The next course of action was to lightly slap and shake him, which garnered no response from the seemingly comatose hunter. Exchanging a worried look, it was Sam who pulled the covers all the way back to reveal a gruesome sight. Harry's left hand looked red and swollen, veins tinted black and starkly visible through the skin. Most worrisome was the missing finger. The bone was plainly visible despite his body's obvious attempts to heal it over and it oozed green-tinged puss.

"Dean, we need to get him to a hospital. Now."

"This is why we can't have nice things, Sammy." Letting out a sigh, Dean carefully scooped the smaller man up in a fireman's carry while Sam combed over the room, gathering the wizard's belongings. A short drive to the hospital later, and they were playing the waiting game as the doctors attempted to decipher what was wrong with the young man, beyond the obvious. A few hours in earned them a scathing call from Bobby, who appeared to be Harry's emergency contact. The older hunter made their ears bleed, before informing them he would be on his way.

No doubt breaking several speed laws, Bobby showed up much sooner than the brothers would have liked. Predictably, they got even more of an earful once Dean was forced to admit they had split up to perform separate jobs. Once the berating was over, a meek nurse approached to inform them that they could finally see Harry. He had yet to wake up, but some healthy color was returning and his heart rate was normal. It seemed that the doctors could not figure out why he was still under, but suspected the infection in his hand in playing a part. The hunters were not quite convinced.

"Black veins?" Bobby stared at them incredulously over the inert frame, mind obviously working furiously after they described what they had seen of Harry's condition. "That ain't no infection I've ever heard of. Sounds more like poison."

"Yeah... Well, we ain't got a clue, and neither do the scrubs. It didn't seem like he was expecting much from the hunt either... No over-the-top anti-demon sigils in his room." Dean explained as even Sam looked confused. "We should see if we can retrace his steps."

"You two go do that. I'll stick around and make sure he stays put." Bobby nodded towards the inert figure. He sounded as if he genuinely expected Harry to wander off, not that they could put it past a wizard. Looking thoughtful, Dean shook his head.

"Actually, Bobby, why don't you go with Sammy? No offense, but creepy bed-side uncle doesn't suit you. Might scare the poor kid into staying knocked out." He cracked a smile when the comment earned him a scathing glare, but the older man nodded grudgingly, probably sensing that Dean had something in mind. The smile slipped away as soon as he was relatively alone, shoulders slumping slightly as he threw himself into the vacated chair. Honestly he had no plan whatsoever. He just wanted to get away from Sam's soulful staring and attempted prying.

"I could really go for a book right now." He stared at Harry, as if expecting an answer, before shaking his head and scoffing. "Really am losing my marbles. Sitting here talking to Shiavo." Heaving a deep sigh, Dean resolved to catch up on some sleep. If nightmares persisted, he could always steal some morphine to make it all more tolerable.

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**Note: **Hopefully this chapter finds everyone well. It's been a while, but here it finally is. See my profile if you'd like to know why I haven't updated in nearly a year.


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